


Where Worlds Collide (And Days Are Dark)

by veritas_st



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Falling Skies AU, M/M, Teen Wolf Big Bang, alien invasion au, canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2013-12-02
Packaged: 2018-01-03 04:33:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1065806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veritas_st/pseuds/veritas_st
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles still remembers the day the ships came.  </p>
<p>Stiles is pretty sure everyone alive that day will remember it, even when they’re old, marbles well and truly lost and thinking that shitting their pants is a really good idea, they will still remember.  </p>
<p>But the point is that Stiles can still remember the day.  Like it was yesterday.  The boom of them breaking the atmosphere, the metallic whirring scream of the Mechs, as he knows them now.  The screams of everyone else around him and the frantic beating of his heart as he tried to find his dad among the pulsing crowd of people desperate to escape, to get anywhere other than the battlefield the town of Beacon Hills had become.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Worlds Collide (And Days Are Dark)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Teen Wolf Big Bang. This year I had the pleasure of working with the lovely and awesome Tarlanx who is not only lovely but awesome as well!
> 
> Here gorgeous art work can be found [HERE](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1061942)

[](http://s567.photobucket.com/user/Veritas_st/media/unnamed_zps275069f9.jpg.html)

 

Stiles still remembers the day the ships came. 

Stiles is pretty sure everyone alive that day will remember it, even when they’re old, marbles well and truly lost and thinking that shitting their pants is a really good idea, they will still remember. 

But the point is that Stiles can still remember the day. Like it was yesterday. The boom of them breaking the atmosphere, the metallic whirring scream of the Mechs, as he knows them now. The screams of everyone else around him and the frantic beating of his heart as he tried to find his dad among the pulsing crowd of people desperate to escape, to get anywhere other than the battlefield the town of Beacon Hills had become. 

It hadn’t taken the town long to empty, most people were either dead or they fled the blind panic. 

And he wonders sometimes, how the hell he got from that blind panic to where he is now. Cobbling together bits and pieces to make their lives easier, fixing radios and helping figure out how to jam the bastards signals, and sharing a tent and his bed with one Derek Hale. 

The one thing Stiles can’t remember is how the hell he got his dad to trust him enough to go to Derek’s house, or what called him there in the first place, he just remembers thinking, after two days holed up in the Police Station watching as each new person who left to find supplies never came back, that enough was enough. These _things_ weren’t leaving, not any time soon anyway, and they had to make a plan. So they’d piled everything they could into Stiles’ jeep, and one of the transport vans and driven over to Derek’s. Scott had already been there, with Melissa who looked like she was about to start screaming and demanding to know what the hell was going on. She gave Stiles’ dad a relieved hug when she saw him and Stiles had hauled Scott close. Hell, he even felt like hauling Derek close but one glance at the slightly worried look on Derek’s face had stopped him. 

Derek already had Erica, Boyd and Isaac with him obviously, but more surprisingly Lydia and Jackson were there as well, and Danny. Jackson had looked nervously at everyone like they were about to hand him over to the bastards as tribute. Like “hey…this guy was kinda one of yours I suppose, here…have him, now thank you for coming, have a safe journey back.” 

Scott had refused to go anywhere without Allison and just as Derek had looked like he was going to punch Scott in the face, Allison had turned up, with her big brown eyes even wider than normal, and had fallen into Scott’s arms as Chris had explained, with a passive face and only a jaw twitch of emotion, that Victoria had gone down fighting. Stiles had found it hard to muster any emotion for the woman who had scared the crap out of him except that Allison looked like something inside her had broken. 

“Any ideas?” Stiles had asked and Derek had looked lost for a second, like the 24 year old he was, lost and helpless and answerless. 

“We drive,” he had replied finally, after what had seemed like a silent conversation with Stiles. 

“Where?” 

“Anywhere.” 

And that’s how they’d ended up with the group they have now, stumbling across them after weeks, months of driving, trying to stay alive, stealing food wherever they could and avoiding the aliens. It became easier as time went on, they all got used to it pretty quickly, you kind of had to when your life depended on getting used to it. Of course, Scott, Jackson, Derek, and the Stygian Triplets (or so Stiles had come to call Isaac, Boyd and Erica), even Allison and Chris to a certain extent had the upper hand. So that left Stiles, his dad, Melissa, Danny and Lydia to try and learn as quickly as possible. 

It had taken the Sheriff two weeks to finally throw down his gloves, literally, and demand to know what the hell was going on with everyone. Why Chris hated Scott so much and how Derek never seemed to get hurt no matter how much the Skitters (or the huge crab-spider freaks as Stiles had called them before) threw at them. Derek had growled, flashed his eyes red, shifted and Melissa had fainted. Stiles had been pretty sure his dad was about to pull his weapon and shoot Derek in the face then and there, until the Triplets had joined suit and with one look at his mom in Allison’s arms, Scott had done the same. 

It wasn’t like it had been easy after that, but it had been different, and Stiles’ dad had been more understanding than Stiles had ever thought possible. Especially when Stiles had mentioned that it had been Peter Hale that had done all the killings all those years ago, not a mountain lion. 

A month after the Reveal, as Stiles had taken to calling it, a way of cataloguing the passing of time, so easy to forget the days when you spend them running for your life, but a month after, Derek and Scott had run into trouble and Scott had been hurt, pretty badly. Badly enough that Derek had abandoned the supply run and bought Scott straight back to their makeshift base somewhere in the middle of Missouri. Melissa had patched him up as best as she could with her limited supplies and sat with her hand around Allison’s, watching as Scott’s body healed itself, quickly, but not as quick as normal. Derek had growled at Stiles when he’d tried to help, to see to the cut on Derek’s head, but Stiles had gotten used to the growling, the red eyes and the silent treatment and just crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow until Derek had sighed and leant back against the hood of Stiles’s jeep. 

Stiles had stepped into the space between his spread thighs, brandishing antiseptic and gauze. A year ago, hell, three months ago Stiles would have thought twice about coming this close to Derek in pain, but there are more dangerous things out there than Derek right now, and truth be told, Stiles had been worried about the set of pain on Derek’s jaw, and the way that the cut on his head wasn’t healing. Stiles had tried to ignore the look on his face and the fact that Derek’s eyes had flashed as Stiles pressed the antiseptic to the cut. There had been something in the way his eyes had flashed that made Stiles’s stomach cramp, not just pain, but with something darker that Stiles hadn’t wanted to identify as he ran his fingers across Derek’s skin and Derek’s hands had twitched against his thighs. 

It hadn’t taken them long to figure out it was something on the Skitters claws that had the wolves healing process slowing down. Something that Stiles had figured out when the three scratches down Derek’s arm hadn’t healed but the broken finger on his right hand had in an instant. 

The problem with living on the run from homicidal Aliens is that it forced you to grow up pretty damn quickly. One minute Stiles was joking, trying to bridge the gap between Derek’s and Scott’s packs, laughing and drooling over Lydia, the next he’s running for his life, patching up bleeding werewolves, and humans alike, trying to fix broken cars with minimal tools, let alone the right ones and wondering when the hell things were going to get better. 

They had no direction, no plan, Chris was constantly pulling his gun on the wolves, causing friction amongst the group even though he had seemed to relax slightly about Allison and Scott. No point trying to keep them apart when they were pretty much forced into each other’s pockets every freaking day. Stiles worried about things he’d never worried about before, if he was ever going to wake up, when their next meal was going to be, what the hell their next meal was going to be. And the strangest to Stiles, if Derek was going to come back from his latest scouting trip. Stiles had never been worried about Derek before, sure there was that whole pool thing, and he had been worried then, but nothing like this. That was some freak accident, a once in a lifetime thing, or so Stiles had thought. Now he was nothing more than a slightly stronger human. Vulnerable and breakable and it freaked Stiles out, kept his chest tight and heavy until there was the familiar hum of his Camaro around whatever bend they had disappeared around. 

“You have to take it easy,” Stiles said one day, his own thighs around Derek this time, fingers pressing into large scratches down his shoulder. Derek hissed, his muscles flexed under his skin and he craned his neck round as Stiles covered the wounds with a tiny bit of antiseptic and made a mental note to get Erica to grab some more next time they did a supply run. 

“Why?” Derek growled, his eyes flashing as Stiles took a deep breath and stabbed the needle he’d threaded into Derek’s skin. Derek hissed again and Stiles made some noise of soothing, pulling the thread through his skin. 

“Because I’m not used to worrying about you, and it’s kinda freaking me out…so stop it ok?” Stiles had learned that the best way to get Derek to sit still is to talk at him, he tenses, but doesn’t wriggle away claiming to be fine, lets Stiles stitch him up. And it should worry Stiles how easily he became the backup Medic, the right hand to Melissa, how suddenly the sight of blood didn’t bother him anymore. 

“You shouldn’t worry about me,” Derek growled out, voice tinged with pain and that freaked Stiles out even more. 

“Why?” Stiles parroted. 

“Because then I’ll worry about you worrying about me.” It was such a ridiculous thing to say, with a needle halfway through his skin, tiny stitches parading across his shoulders that Stiles snorted and ignored the twitch in Derek’s muscles. 

“And then I just worry about you worrying about me worrying about you,” he said and tied the stitches off, bit off the excess thread and ran his fingers gently over the scratches. Derek twitches again, stiffened but didn’t pull away. 

“Stiles…” Derek slid out from between his thighs and faced him. 

“You keep this pack together Derek, we need you,” Stiles looked down at his hands, winding the last of their stitches into a neat ball and stabbing the needle through it. 

“No I don’t. You do.” 

...

Stiles started looking at Derek differently after that. Like something other than the tenuous leader that kept them together, when his stomach started flipping whenever Derek glanced at him, or whenever Derek got hurt and Stiles had to touch him, because Derek never went to Melissa for help. 

His dad noticed obviously, his dad always noticed things like that and corners Stiles one day, a few months after Stiles had started looking at Derek differently, nearly a year after the invasion.  
“What going on with you and that Hale kid?” Stiles fumbles with his screwdriver and drops it onto the dusty floor. 

“What do you mean? Nothing’s going on. Except of course if you mean about me patching him up well that’s just looking after the group right? Because we need…”

“Stiles…” His dad pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs heavily. It’s the sigh he always got, before the world went to hell. 

“Nothing,” he says, succinctly, and bites down on his lip to stop the exact same spiel from escaping. 

“Right, because I haven’t noticed the lingering looks of two people avoiding admitting they like each other?” If Stiles had been eating or drinking he would have choked, as it happened, he does a pretty good job of choking on nothing but his own tongue. 

“Dad!”

“What? Just observing Stiles…and hell, if you two can find each other in this big mess then why the hell not right?” His dad shrugs and shoves his hands into his pockets. It is weird to see him without his Sheriff’s uniform on, to see him act the like Sheriff he was without wearing the costume. People still respect him, still look to him, and if anyone keeps this pack together it’s his dad and Derek together. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Stiles replies, fiddling with his retrieved screw driver. His dad raises an eyebrow and shrugs again. 

“Fair enough,” he chuckles to himself as he walks away. 

…

“My dad thinks I’m in love with Derek.” Allison freezes, halfway through bending down to pick up some firewood. Her brow wrinkles as she stands back up and tosses her hair over her shoulder. 

“And what do you think?” She asks, fixing Stiles with her dreaded super archer assassin stare. Stiles squirms. 

“I think it’s ridiculous,” he scoffs and Allison raises an eyebrow before leaning down and picking up a sizeable branch that will keep them warm for the next few hours. 

“Really?”

“Yes really, firstly, this may come as a surprise to you but I like my face, and if I _was_ in love with Derek, it would be punched in, secondly…he’s…well he’s a he.” Allison screws up her nose and shakes her head. 

“I don’t think things like that matter anymore Stiles, if they ever did,” she tucks her hair behind her ear and smiles gently at him. 

“But aren’t we supposed to be repopulating the earth or some bullshit like that?” Stiles jumps at the rustle of leaves as Allison pulls out her crossbow in record time. 

“That’s my girlfriend you’re propositioning, Stiles. I love you man but back off,” Scott grins and Stiles resists the urge to tell him, _again_ , to announce his arrival like any normal person. He’s lost count of the number of times he’s nearly shot Scott. 

“Stiles is in love with Derek,” Allison says winding an arm around Scott’s waist and leaning into him as his kisses her temple. 

“Allison!”

“Dammit, I owe Lydia her next dishes duty.”

“Scott!” 

…

“Can you teach me to shoot?” 

“Absolutely not,” The Sheriff answers without looking up from the latest map he was able to find. There’s a small red line meandering across half of it and Stiles guesses that’s where they’ve been. An endless parade of where they have been versus where else they need to check. 

“Why?” Stiles peers at the map and John looks up at him, one eyebrow raised over his eye. 

“Because you need your feet,” he says and then looks back down at the map, squinting slightly. 

“Ha ha…very funny. I’m serious, dad.” Stiles picks up a compass, twirls it around once and watches the needle stay still. Compasses always fascinate him, the way the needle will wobble but pretty much stay true, pointing North no matter where it’s placed. 

“Why do you want to learn?” John crosses his arms over his chest and Stiles puts the compass back on the map. 

“Oh I don’t know, maybe because there are homicidal aliens running around intent on stealing people and attaching weird harnesses to them, or just plain killing them…maybe,” Stiles trails off and John cocks his head to the side, watching Stiles as he shoves his hands into his pockets. 

“There are other people here who know how to shoot,” John says, his hand resting on the pistol strapped to his belt. 

“What if they’re not here?” Stiles asks, his mind playing images of his dad being taken, or killed. Of Derek being wounded beyond what his body could cope with. Of Scott and Allison, everyone else he loves being taken from him. 

“He’s not going anywhere Stiles,” John says simply and Stiles squints at him. 

“Who?”

“Derek,” John says like it’s obvious. One simple word that has Stiles questioning everything. 

“I didn’t mean…” Stiles starts.

“But fine, I’ll teach you,” John interrupts and Stiles’s mouth hanging open as he gapes at his dad.  
“Thank you,” he replies finally and John nods, looked back at his map. 

“Just don’t blame me if you shoot your own fingers off.” 

…

“Just point and shoot, keep your eye on the target, don’t think too much, don’t hold your breath…” John fires out instructions as Stiles holds the gun in his hand, pointing at the old rusting can a few feet away, perched on an old gate post. The gun is surprisingly heavy in his hands, cold metal warming under his touch and Stiles sighs and drops the gun from its pointed position. 

“I thought you said just point and shoot?” Stiles complains and John raises an eyebrow at him. His dad looks tired, world weary and old for the first time since Stiles can remember. He’s not surprised, this life they lead now is exhausting, living hand to mouth, on the run, constant vigilance, just _waiting_ for it all to end. 

“It’s a little bit more than that, but yes, just point and shoot,” John replies, holding his own weapon to towards the can. He doesn’t even think, just squeezes the trigger and the can bounces off the gate post with a bang. “Don’t pull the trigger, squeeze it. It takes more pressure than you think.” 

Stiles lifts the gun again, points at another can, looks down the length of his arm, and the barrel of the gun and squeezes. The gun recoils slightly, jarring his arm and shoulder more than he thought, but the bullet goes wide, the can staying resolutely on the gate post. Stiles sighs. 

“Again,” John says, nodding at the can and Stiles does it again, holding his breath and letting it out slowly, breathing in again and holding it as he squeezes one more time. 

The bullet goes wide again. 

“Again.” 

This time the bullet hits the can, sending it somersaulting through the air and Stiles grins up at his dad. 

“Good…again.” 

…

Stiles’ arm hurts, but he feels happier than he has in a long time. Accomplished and proud of himself. He rubs his shoulder absently as he walks through their makeshift camp, dodging campfires and small children running around. He’s always impressed with children’s ability to put bad things behind them, to find the fun in things no adult could. It makes him feel old watching them sometimes, remembering back to when finding half a dead body in the woods was the most important thing in their life. 

“Come here,” Derek’s low voice is quiet, but loud enough that Stiles jumps slightly as he spins round to face him, fingers still pressed into the abused muscle of his shoulder. 

“Huh?” 

“Come here,” Derek says again, cocking his head back slightly and Stiles takes a step towards him. Derek reaches out and swats Stiles’ hand away, replacing it with his own larger one. His fingers knead in just the right place and Stiles groans embarrassingly loud in the twilight. Derek raises an eyebrow but keeps on touching him. “You’ll get used to it,” he says quietly, reaching his other hand up to Stiles’s jaw. He cups both hands around the back of his neck, thumbs pressed under his chin and pulls gently. Stiles feels his neck pop and the ache in his shoulder lessens slightly. 

Derek drops his hands. 

“Ok…wow,” Stiles rolls his neck and shoulder experimentally and Derek’s lip quirk slightly like he wants to smile but its held back by something. “Thanks.” 

“No problem,” Derek mutters, shoves his hands into his pockets and shrugs slightly. He turns to leave. 

“Hey Derek?” Stiles says and a frown passes over Derek’s face. “Wanna grab some dubious beers and sit round a campfire?” Stiles hooks his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of his tent and watches as Derek follows his thumb and then flicks his eyes back to Stiles. 

“Sure.” 

…

Stiles isn’t drunk, he hasn’t been for a long time, it’s too dangerous to get blinding drunk nowadays, never knowing when you might need to cut and run. But he’s pleasantly buzzed, alcohol warming his blood like the fire can’t and Derek’s pressed up against him closer than necessary, and Stiles really doesn’t mind. Derek’s thigh is a warm line of heat against his own, solid and comforting in a world that seems crazy. He’s feeling maudlin all of a sudden, wanting to go back to when his life was simple, when trying to decide to go to college or follow his dad into the police was the most important decision, back when he started having dreams about Derek that made no sense. 

“I miss it…you know,” Stiles says and Derek grunts from next to him, the beer in his bottle clinking against the glass slightly as he tips it back from his mouth. “Being scared of you.” 

Derek laughs gently, and Stiles misses the full on belly laugh he heard Derek do exactly twice since he’s known him. Once when Stiles punched Scott in the face during a training session and the other because Stiles tripped and fell up the front steps to Derek’s house. 

“You were never scared of me,” Derek mutters, nudging his shoulder gently and Stiles snorts.

“Totally was,” he replies and Derek turns his head to look at him. Stiles blinks and looks back at Derek across the tiny space between them. The light from the fire dances across Derek’s right cheek and Stiles lifts his hand and traces the tip of his index finger along Derek’s cheekbone. 

“Stiles,” Derek breathes his name, quietly, almost scared, and Stiles snatches his hand away. Derek rubs the heel of his hand across his cheek.

“Sorry…I…” he trails off as Derek cups his large hand around Stiles’s face again, thumb dragging over his cheekbone purposefully, Stiles licks his lips and Derek’s eyes flick down to his mouth. “Not sorry?” 

“No…” Derek mutters, bringing his face closer to Stiles’, “Not sorry.” 

He kisses Stiles, it’s gentle at first, a press of lips against Stiles’, thick with promise but so unsure at the same time. Stiles whines with irritation, wanting more and opens his mouth to Derek. Derek’s tongue touches his own, the tip dancing across Stiles’s bottom lip, sliding into his mouth in a way that’s almost lewd but it’s over so quickly, Derek pulling away, that Stiles, if he left now and went back to his tent and slept off the alcohol, could almost imagine tomorrow that this was all a dream. Derek leans his forehead against Stiles’s, breathes in and lets his fingers play across Stiles’s jaw. 

“Not sorry,” he mutters again and Stiles laughs through his ‘omg what just happened’ and presses his lips to Derek’s again. Derek grunts, his hand clutching at the back of Stiles’s neck, pulls Stiles’ bottom lip between his teeth and worries the skin a little. Stiles feels his pants get uncomfortable and wants to rut against Derek’s thigh, wants to push Derek down against the dirt and find out what lies under his clothes. He wants to touch, taste, see, wants to run away and have a very large freak out about the fact he’s kissing Derek Hale. Derek seems to sense something and pulls away, squints at Stiles in the firelight. “Sorry.” 

“No…no, no.” Stiles clutches at him, tries to pull him back, “you’re not sorry remember?” Derek blinks. “Ok so I have no idea what that was but I’m not complaining so…” he trails off as Derek scrapes his teeth over his bottom lip. Stiles feels his stomach clench with want. 

“Ok…” Derek says, nodding once and but still moving away. Stiles is confused as hell right now but Derek’s jacket feels grounding clenched in his fingers so he holds on. 

“Don’t…” Stiles mutters, frowning down to where his fingers are curled into the worn leather of Derek’s jacket. “Just…” 

“Stiles,” Stiles looks up and Derek hooks a finger under his chin. “I’m not sorry.” Derek’s hand covers Stiles’ and uncurls his fingers gently. “I just need some sleep before I fall over…ok?” He smiles gently, pinching Stiles’ chin between his thumb and forefinger briefly before letting go. 

“Ok,” Stiles grins back at him.

“By the way,” Derek says, pushing himself to his feet, he brushes some dust off his jeans and holds a hand out to Stiles. Stiles takes it and Derek pulls him to his feet. “Why do you miss being scared of me?” 

“Because at least I understood that,” Stiles answers honestly and Derek just stares his blank stare. The one where you know he’s thinking a million different things although not one of them is shared on his face. Derek pulls him close, one hand flat against the small of Stiles’s back and nudges his nose against Stiles’s. 

“Night,” he mutters, lips millimetres from Stiles’. He lets Stiles go and is gone before Stiles can reply. 

…

Stiles wakes with a slightly fuzzy head, a pain in his shoulder and a hard on that would rival his 16 year old self’s. 

The thing about living in such close proximity to…well… _everyone_ is that it’s hard enough to find time to _think_ let alone find time to deal with certain…body issues. Stiles groans as his hand drifts lower, fingers stroking over the tip of his dick. It’s tempting to curl his fingers around himself, and stroke, and he licks his lips, tastes the stale taste of beer which reminds him of Derek and kissing and strong hands around his face. There’s still a lingering sense of ‘what the hell just happened’ but it’s getting less the more he thinks about it. Like this is what was meant to happen, like him and Derek were always meant to gravitate towards each other like this. 

There’s footsteps outside his tent and he wrenches his hand out of his pants, groaning as he shifts and the material moves over his sensitive skin. 

“Stiles? You awake?” Scott calls, then starts unzipping the zipper on the tent. Pale morning light filters in and Stiles groans, again. So much for ever getting a lie-in again. 

“I am now,” he grumbles, sitting up and pulling his knees up to his chest to hide his morning wood. Scott drops to his knees at the entrance to Stiles’s tent and grins. 

“Hi grumpy,” he sings and Stiles glares at him. 

“Urgh…go away.” 

“Derek is looking for you,” Scott says and raises an eyebrow. Stiles feels his stomach drop. 

“What? Why? What did he say exactly?” 

“Um…he just asked where you were,” Scott replies, looking more than a little confused at Stiles’ rapid fire questions. 

“And you woke me up for that?” 

“You were already awake contemplating a little ‘me time’,” Scott uses his fingers to emphasise the last two words and Stiles sticks his tongue out. 

“We can’t all have girlfriends,” Stiles replies, looking around to find something to throw at his best friend. Scott laughs and starts to back out of the tent. 

“True…but we can’t all have boyfriends either can we?” 

Stiles throws his shoe. 

…

They’re moving on today. Too long in one place makes everyone antsy, especially Derek and the wolves. The people they’ve managed to pick up along the way, the families with children, not many, like staying in one place for more than a few nights. But the Skitters are swarming all over the place, and it’s easier to stay under their radar by moving around. Staying still makes them sitting targets. Everyone knows that. 

The bustle around the makeshift camp is practically palpable as Stiles makes his way through it in search of his dad. John’s probably knee deep in maps, his “officers” all crowded round one table watching as John plots out their next route. 

Stiles weaves between people, tents, a few errant children and is picking his way across the particularly wet piece of ground when he slips and two strong arms keep him from falling flat on his ass into the mud. 

“Hi,” he gazes up at Derek with what he knows is a stupid grin on his face. Derek mirrors it in his own way, a twitch of his lips and a crinkling of his eyes at the corners. 

“Hi,” he replies and rights Stiles, lets him go but keeps his hands close in case Stiles’ inelegance decides to show its ugly head again. Stiles nods, straightens his jacket out and looks up at Derek as he shoves his hands into his pockets. 

“So…”

“Listen,” Derek starts and Stiles snaps his mouth shut and bites on his bottom lip. “Still not sorry.” Derek says after what feels like an age of him being silent and searching Stiles’s face. Stiles lets out the breath he didn’t remember holding and smiles. 

“Me neither,” he wants to kiss him again, he realises, right there in the mud, with the whole troupe of people watching. He wants to kiss Derek Hale, a _guy_. Hell, he wants to do more and surprisingly that doesn’t scare him as much as he thinks it should. 

To any casual passer by this would look normal, two guys talking, looking at each other. But to anyone who knew either of them, Stiles knows it would look like something more. Stiles doesn’t stay still like this for long, and Derek doesn’t look at anyone like he cares about them.

“We’re moving today,” Derek says obviously and Stiles realises Derek’s nervous, unsure and that thought makes him laugh. 

“We’re still the same Derek,” he says and Derek narrows his eyes slightly, “it’s just us. We don’t have to make casual obvious small talk.” 

“I’m not…I just…” Derek shrugs and moves like he’s going to reach out and touch Stiles. He looks around and thinks better of it. “Ride with me?” 

Stiles feels his eyes widen. Derek never rides with anyone, his Camaro, once his shiny pride and joy, is now his only solace, albeit a little dusty and dented, in this crazy world and he’s willing to share it with Stiles. 

He doesn’t wait for Stiles to answer, just strides off across the camp with purpose. Stiles grins like an idiot at his retreating back. 

…

They like to move under the cover of daylight. The sun making it easier to see The Mechs coming when the sun glints of their metallic bodies. It’s easier to hide themselves during the night but they move during the day when the Skitters seem to be less active. Noise carries differently during the day as well. The sound of a car starting is less jarring when the sun is high in the sky. 

John gathers their troupe together. They aren’t numerous, Stiles, Scott and Allison, Chris, Derek, Boyd and Erica, Isaac, Lydia and Jackson. Melissa and Danny. A family from a small town a few towns over from Beacon Hills, they’d picked up a couple of days after they left Beacon Hills. David, the father, Rachel, the mom and their two girls. A young girl called Lauren who Stiles had rescued from the Skitters a few weeks back. She still looked wide eyed and terrified most of the time but she helped Melissa out with the First Aid and people seemed to like her. Last there was Pete, with his three kids, two boys and a girl. One was near Stiles’s age but sullen and lazy. John gathers them together and speaks, his calm voice washing over Stiles as he watches Derek, the muscles in his jaw moving as he clenches his teeth again and again. Derek’s got his hands shoved into his pockets, his usual stance when he isn’t fighting or touching Stiles and Stiles stares a little harder, tries to get Derek to look up at him. Derek ignores him, or doesn’t notice and John tells everyone to keep together, be smart, stay safe and then they’re off, peeling away into little groups. Melissa grabs Chris to stop him from jumping in the car with Scott and Allison. He resists for a moment but goes, leaving Scott grinning at Allison and bundling her into the car. They’ll drive at the back of the column so they can peel off and have a little alone time. Stiles is pretty sure of it. 

Derek holds back, waits for Stiles to find him and steers him towards the Camaro with a solid hand against the small of Stiles’ back. The touch is innocuous but it feels like a promise, one that makes Stiles want to lean back against the hand, or to lock them both away somewhere and forget everything that’s going on around them. Derek trails his hand across Stiles’ back, pats on the roof of the car and slips around to the drivers seat. 

“Ok?” he asks as he does his seatbelt up and Stiles grins, leans back against the leather seats. 

“Ok.” 

The drive’s silent, but not uncomfortable. It’s the silence where there is so much to say, but no one knows how to start because they’re both happy. Stiles wants to put his hand over Derek’s on the gear stick, wants to link their fingers together and joke, see Derek’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he tries not to laugh at Stiles’s lame jokes. 

“What are we doing?” Derek asks, a few hours down the line, his knuckles white around the gear stick and the bland scenery passes Stiles by. Stiles glances over at him, sees his throat bob as Derek swallows and steals a look at Stiles. 

“Driving?” Stiles answers and Derek doesn’t even try to smile. 

“You know what I mean,” Derek replies, shifting gears as the column of cars slows slightly. 

“No, I really don’t. Because you could be talking about right now, or in general, what we as the group are doing, or what we, as in you and me, are doing, and to be honest Derek I don’t have an answer for any of those questions. Except the first one. Right now we’re driving.” Derek does smile at that, a little twitch of his lips and a glance at Stiles. 

“I just…” Derek starts, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel, “Are we being reckless?” 

“Again…you’re gonna have to be a little more specific,” Stiles answers, his stomach knotting with worry at what Derek’s talking about. 

“You and me,” Derek clarifies, eyes fixed on the car in front. The red brake lights flash for a second and Derek tenses. 

“Probably,” Stiles replies and Derek glances at him again, his face unreadable. “But you know what I have found in the last couple of months? Life as we know it is over. Ok? We’re never getting back to what we knew. We’re never going to have to worry about tests, or grades, or if there’s some obnoxious kid trespassing on your land,” there’s another hint of a smile in the corner of the eye Stiles can see, “So…I don’t think normal rules apply anymore.” 

“Stiles…”

“We only kissed Derek,” Stiles counters Derek’s sigh and Derek reaches for the radio. 

“We’re stopping, carry on without us, we’ll catch up,” he speaks into the radio and Stiles hears his dad reply and Derek pulls the Camaro off the road. He doesn’t speak until the column of cars drives past, Scott leering out of the window of the last one. Stiles flips him the bird. “Only?” 

“Ok not _only_. You know what Derek? You’re far too serious, we kissed, I want more despite my on-going freak out about wanting more, we probably are being reckless as having to worry about someone else makes you vulnerable, but you know what else? It makes you stronger. When Scott first turned, you told him having Allison would make him weak but it made him stronger, she anchored him.” 

“That’s different,” Derek says sullenly and Stiles wonders when Derek became the younger one of the two. He reaches across the car and touches Derek’s jaw. 

“No it’s not. You’re scared, I get that. I am too. But I don’t think we should close a door on something just because homicidal aliens decided to make our home theirs.” Derek turns his face to Stiles, Stiles’s fingers slide across his skin. “What happened to not being sorry?” 

“What happened to idiot Stiles?” Derek counters with a smile and Stiles shrugs. 

“Guess he grew up,” Stiles shifts a little closer, runs his fingers along Derek’s jaw. 

“Guess so,” Derek covers Stiles’s hand with his own and tugs him close, cups Stiles’ jaw with his other hand and presses his thumb into the soft skin under Stiles’ chin. “I like grown up Stiles,” he mutters, running his lips across Stiles’, “I can do this to grown up Stiles,” he kisses Stiles, draws him in closer, licks inside Stiles’ mouth. Stiles whines in the back of his throat, one hand still clasped in Derek’s grip, the other curling around Derek’s jacket, tugging him even closer. 

It’s not like last night, simple and promising. This is the fulfilment of that promise, lewd and dirty, desperate, the kind of kiss that could easily turn into a fumble in the back of the car, if the car had enough room for that. Derek sucks on Stiles’s lower lip, dives back into his mouth, growls low in his throat and his fingers tighten at the back of his neck, his thumb pressing slightly harder. 

Derek pulls away with a shudder, Stiles’ lips tingle, feel swollen and bruised but he wants to do that all over again. Stiles keeps his grip on Derek’s jacket, just like last night, afraid Derek’s going to pull away again. Derek runs his fingers across Stiles’s cheekbone, almost reverently. 

“So conclusion,” Stiles says, his voice a little breathless and Derek raises an eyebrow, his fingers still on Stiles’s face, thumb tracing over Stiles’s lower lip. “We’re being reckless but we don’t care, right?” 

“Right.” 

…

They stop a couple of hours before sundown, the rest of the drive spent in companionable silence, well from Derek at least, Stiles talking a mile a minute at him whilst Derek drove with a faint smile on his face, touching Stiles’ thigh every now and then. But they stop, pitch tents, set up tripwires and early warning systems, Isaac and Boyd slipping into the rapidly approaching twilight and emerging later looking pleased with themselves. 

There’s always someone on guard, at least two people, but the early warning systems, a series of small bells hung up around the perimeter on tiny thin wires, have saved their asses on more than one occasion. Lydia even managed to get a Skitter with a homemade Landmine once. But they ran out of supplies for them pretty quickly and until they can top them up, they’re stuck with bells. 

There’s always a wolf on guard, their hearing better, eyesight sharper so it makes sense and Stiles and Derek take the first watch as the rest of the group settle down to get a few hours sleep. On stopovers like this, they don’t unpack everything, just the essentials, the main tents are left on the vehicles so there are a few smaller tents pitched, but Stiles’ dad is wrapped in a sleeping bag a few feet away. 

Derek’s sitting on a low log that Boyd dragged back through the woods, a stick poking into the small campfire and Stiles leans back between his open legs. Derek lifts a hand and lays it on Stiles’ shoulder, thumb stroking up the column of his neck. Isaac and Danny are up next and Isaac shifts in his sleep across the fire from them. Stiles arches his neck to the side and Derek leans down to drop a kiss to the top of his head. It’s almost domestic, he can almost imagine them camping out on Derek’s land, the rest of the pack back in the house, just him and Derek and the vast sky. He tips his head back and looks at Derek upside down. Derek raises an eyebrow.

“You look weird upside down,” Stiles mutters quietly and Derek lets out a breath of a laugh. 

“So do you,” he says and tweaks Stiles’ nose in a way that makes Stiles’ heart hurt with adorability. 

“So…” he starts and Derek raises his eyebrow again, “we’ve got,” he glances at his watch, “less than an hour left then…” 

“Then?” Derek asks, running a hand down Stiles’ chest and leaning down to kiss him on the mouth. 

“Your tent or mine?” Stiles asks as Derek kisses his chin. 

“Mine,” Derek sits back up, looks across the fire into the inky blackness. 

“Why yours?” Stiles asks, shifting himself, using Derek’s knees as a support. 

“Mine’s pitched…yours…isn’t.” Derek replies, his head cocked to the side, like he’s listening to the night. 

“What?” Stiles asks, fear and adrenaline prickling his skin in an instant. Derek puts his fingers to his lips at the same time as one of the bells tinkles in the distance. Its not always danger, sometimes just wind, sometimes just an animal but the wolves all wake in a second. Derek stands, puts himself between Stiles and the direction the tinkling bell and narrows his eyes, trying to see into the night. John shifts but doesn’t move, and Stiles knows they’re only to wake him if it’s something to worry about. Derek nods at Isaac who moves silently through the woods, slips between the trees and disappears. 

The time when Isaac isn’t in sight is tense, everyone waiting for a fight, hoping to not have one, Scott’s beside Stiles but steps in front of him as Derek gestures with his fingers. Both of them making a wall between Stiles and potential danger. Stiles should be offended, should find it annoying that they feel they have to protect him but Stiles doesn’t, feels grateful that he has two people that would put themselves in danger for him. He reaches out and touches Derek’s hand. Derek closes his fingers around Stiles’ briefly. 

Isaac reappears after what feels like hours later, holding up one thumb to them as he slips back across the small camp. Stiles sees Derek visibly relax.

“Just the breeze I think,” Isaac whispers. There’s still a sense of potential danger hanging over them but Derek lets Isaac wake Danny and take over, pushes Stiles towards his tent with strong hands. 

They don’t even bother undressing, Derek just unzips both sleeping bags, lays one on the ground and pulls Stiles down on to it, covers them both with the other. Derek tucks Stiles close to him, and Stiles falls asleep with his legs tangled with Derek’s. 

…

He wakes hot, with his nose pressed to Derek’s chest, a headache looming behind his eyes. He shifts and Derek tightens his grip briefly before loosening it and leaning back enough to look down at him. Derek looks younger like this, hair mussed by sleep, eyes half lidded and Stiles has the ridiculous urge to ruffle his hair. 

“Morning,” Derek’s voice rumbles through his chest and Stiles grins, buries his face back into Derek’s chest and presses his lips to the skin he find there. 

“Stiles!” John’s voice cuts through the peace, loud and slightly irritated and Stiles jerks fully awake, pulls himself out of Derek’s arms just as the tent opens and John’s head appears through the flaps. 

“Dad…hi.” John glares, but its half-hearted at most. Derek still shifts away from Stiles and tugs at his t-shirt as if to say ‘see? We’re still fully clothed’. 

“I don’t care if you are the strongest of us, you mess him around, I will shoot you,” John points at Derek who swallows but nods. 

“Yes sir,” he says and Stiles drops his head to his hands. 

“Oh my God.” 

“And you,” John rounds on Stiles, “did it escape your memory that we are moving on this morning?” There’s a mischievous twinkle in John’s eyes, like he’s enjoying embarrassing both of them and Stiles glares at him. 

“No…can we have a minute? We need to finish our morning sex,” Stiles replies and John’s eyes widen comically. _Two can play at this game, dad._ Derek chokes and John glares, before letting out a laugh and disappearing back through the tent flaps. 

“You have ten minutes.” 

“What is wrong with you?” Derek asks as Stiles turns to grin at him. Stiles shrugs and clambers across the tent to throw one leg over Derek’s and straddle him. He’s going for sexy but he’s pretty sure he misses by a mile. 

“Do you want the whole list?” Stiles asks and Derek winds one arm around him, pulls him close. At this angle Stiles is taller and he looks down at Derek.

“No, just the Cliffs Notes,” Derek smiles, runs his hand up Stiles’ spine under his t-shirt and pulls him down for a kiss. 

“Funny,” Stiles mutters and then kisses Derek like he wants to, slow and exploring. Derek lets him take the lead, set the pace and Stiles cups his face between his hands, runs his thumbs over his cheekbones. Derek shifts and Stiles feels Derek’s dick hard against the inside of his thigh. 

“Stiles…you have to stop.” Stiles shifts instead, drags his own denim clad dick across Derek’s and kisses him again. “Stiles…I mean it,” Derek breathes out across Stiles lips when Stiles draws back to take a breath. “If you don’t…”

“What?” Stiles asks, shifting again and dragging a gasp out of Derek. Derek growls, shifts, and Stiles finds himself flat on his back blinking up at Derek. “Oh.” 

“We have ten minutes,” Derek looks at his watch, “five now…that’s not the time I need to do all the things I want to you so you have to stop, before your father misses you and shoots me in the face.” 

“He didn’t stipulate the face,” Stiles counters as Derek crawls off him, running a slightly shaky hand through his hair. 

“I don’t want to get shot anywhere,” Derek replies, groaning as Stiles rearranges his dick through his jeans. Stiles grins and licks across his lower lip. “You’re a brat, you know that?” 

“I’m aware.” 

…

They’re on the move again and John’s in Camaro with Derek. Stiles is in his own jeep, still miraculously going after all these years and he’s worried about his dad and Derek together. Allison is in the passengers seat and Scott’s managed to get Isaac to drive his car leaving him piled into the back between supplies and tents. He leans forward between Stiles and Allison. 

“So…” 

“What?” Stiles asks, not taking his eyes off the road but leaning his head in Scott’s direction. 

“Was there some awesome gay sex last night?” Stiles nearly drives off the road and the sound of Allison slapping his arm reverberates around the jeep. 

“Scott!” Allison chastises. 

“I’m not answering that,” Stiles sulks and Scott lets out a laugh. Allison angles her body into the jeep and leans against the door, her arms crossed over her chest. She glares at her boyfriend. 

“That’s a yes,” Scott says, disappearing back into the precarious piles of supplies. 

“Sorry,” Allison mutters, patting Stiles’ leg and Stiles smiles sympathetically. 

“How do you put up with him?” 

“It’s a chore,” Allison flips her hair over her shoulder. “I think it’s great though.” 

“You can put up with Scott? Yeah, that’s great,” Stiles deflects and keeps his eyes trained on the car in front. 

“No,” she laughs gently, “you and Derek. I mean…it’s not like it wasn’t expected,” she ignores a small yelp from the back as Stiles drives through a pothole and Scott hits himself on something. 

“Wait…what?” Stiles resists the urge to slam his foot on the brakes and tightens his grip around the steering wheel. 

“Come on Stiles, it was kinda obvious,” Allison says, reaching for the radio dial. She snatches her hand back and looks sad for a second. The automatic reactions are the hardest to kick, checking ones phone, turning the radio up when you’re in the car, that sort of thing. 

“It was?” Stiles asks and Allison shakes her head once and looks back at him. 

“Totally,” Scott pipes up from the back. 

“Shut up,” Stiles and Allison both say together. 

“Yeah,” Allison continues, but it’s quieter this time, more gentle and she smiles her easy smile at him. “You’re not just Scott’s friend anymore Stiles, you’re mine too. And if he makes you happy, then we’re happy,” she raises her voice a little, “aren’t we Scott?” 

“Totally.” 

 

“You guys are the worst.” Stiles grumbles, but smiles up at Allison. She grins back and turns to the road. 

…

They lose Erica two weeks later. 

The Mechs get her on a routine supply run, gas and food running low, whilst Derek pushes Stiles up against his jeep and kisses the breath out of him. 

Boyd carries her small, delicate body back, face expressionless apart from the seething anger seeping in under his skin. Even Isaac’s touch doesn’t calm him like normal and Derek had to tie him down to stop him going after the Mechs single-handedly. 

Stiles waits outside the door of one of the classrooms on the abandoned school they’ve managed to hole up in for the past week and hears Derek’s low voice talking to Boyd. He can’t make out the words but Derek’s face is tense when he emerges. Stiles runs his hand down Derek’s arm, squeezes his hand and lets go. 

Derek feels guilty, Stiles gets that. He had Stiles up against the jeep, his hands down Stiles’ pants whilst Erica went down fighting, gun in her hand and snarl on her face. Stiles can practically see her now, grin on her face as she makes good natured fun of Stiles, her blond hair still immaculate despite the lack of modern hair appliances. 

They burn her body, Stiles’ hand gripped tight around Derek’s as the sickening smell of burning flesh reaches their nostrils. They burn her, rather than bury her, because Boyd can’t stand the idea of leaving her. He takes a pinch of the ashes, pours it into a locket he finds in the nearest town and fastens it around his neck. 

They push ever onwards. 

…

Boyd loses it three weeks later. Goes on a suicide mission without telling anyone, putting himself in danger. Stiles knows what he’s doing, even as Derek shouts at him whilst Melissa patches him up, the Skitter’s claw marks healing slowly but surely. Boyd’s arm hangs at an odd angle and Derek clutches his shoulder, with a sickening pop puts it back into place. 

“We all lost her Boyd,” Derek says, his voice lowering to barely above a whisper and Boyd’s body shudders as he tries to keep in a sob. Stiles bites on his bottom lip and wants to touch Boyd, to reassure him it gets better, eventually. There’s always that ache of loss but it dulls over time. Melissa ushers them out and Stiles puts him arms around Derek from behind, rests his cheek on Derek’s shoulder. Derek’s hands covers Stiles’ and he holds on, leaning his head against Stiles’ . 

“There’s nothing you can do, you know?” Stiles says and the hands around his own twitch. “You can’t fix this.” 

“I know,” Derek replies and lets go of Stiles’ hands. Stiles takes the cue and steps back. “I just…” he sighs and runs a hand through his hair and Stiles feels helpless watching him look so small and lost. “I’ll see you later.” 

Stiles sighs himself, watching Derek stalk away from him. Everyone’s hurting, Boyd more than anyone, and Stiles can do nothing except watch as his group of people falls apart. 

…

Birthday’s come and go, they try to make a thing about them when they can. Stiles is now 19, Derek 25, having spent one birthday each on the road. It’s strange living like this, losing track of the dates because they’re not important anymore. The only ones they remember are birthdays and July 4th.

Last year the celebrated July 4th on the roadside. With liberated whiskey and a few stolen fire crackers. They had wanted to use Fireworks but that would have drawn too much attention to themselves. 

But Birthday’s come and go and Stiles feels older than his age as he walks through the camp, his back hurt, shoulder aching from yet more shooting practice. Derek’s nowhere to be seen but Stiles isn’t worried, won’t start worrying until the morning if he can’t find him then. He knows Derek likes to hide when things get too much for him. He’s only 25, but the time on the road, running for his life, has added years on that probably nothing can take away. Everyone in the group has an age old weariness about them now, even the kids. 

Stiles sighs and slips into Derek’s tent. It’s warm, smells of Derek, leather and dirt and Stiles toes off his shoes, shucks off his jacket and crawls into the sleeping back that smells of them. 

He wakes a few hours later as Derek slips under the sleeping bag next to him. His skin’s cold, still slightly damp and he smells clean. Stiles shifts closer to him and Derek’s arms go round him. 

 

“You ok?” Stiles asks and he feels Derek nod. 

“Sorry I worried you.” 

“S’ok,” Stiles slurs, feeling sleep pull at him, “used to it.” 

…

“My arm is dead,” Derek’s voice is thick with sleep as Stiles wakes, blinking the grit from his eyes. He lets out a small laugh and moves but Derek pulls him back. “I didn’t say move, I was just stating a fact.” 

Stiles laughs again. He wonders some mornings, waking up like this, tangled in Derek, just how they became so close so quickly, how this doesn’t seem to worry either of them. Stiles’ stomach coils as Derek’s thigh slides between his legs. 

“Thinking again,” Derek mutters and Stiles arches against him.

“Good things,” he assures and Derek hums, gets Stiles on his back and buries his face in Stiles’ neck. Stiles groans and as Derek drives his hips lazily down into Stiles’, he makes a mental note to stop sleeping in his clothes. 

“Like?” Derek asks, then licks the shell of Stiles’ ear. Stiles shudders, diving his hands into Derek’s hair and tugging. 

“Like the fact we’re wearing too many clothes,” Stiles replies and Derek’s lips go from flat to curved into a devilish smile in an instant. 

“I think that fact has to be rectified,” he says and pushes himself up onto his knees, straddling Stiles’ thighs. He reaches down and undoes the small buttons on Stiles’ shirt, pushing it open and driving his hands underneath the t-shirt. His palms are warm, practically burning and Stiles hisses as his thumb brushes over his nipple. Derek draws his hands back down, tugs on the shirt, “sit up.” Stiles’ shirt comes off, Derek’s hands sliding down his arms, next his t-shirt is pulled over his head and Derek pushes Stiles flat with a hand on his chest. Derek scoots backwards and his fingers trace along the top of his waistband of his jeans before flicking the button open with deft hands. 

He scoots further backwards and tugs Stiles’ jeans down his thighs. Stiles pulls his knees up and Derek pulls the jeans the whole way off, dropping them over his shoulder and pulling his own shirt off in one fluid movement. 

His skin is flawless as ever, no marks where Stiles has stitched him up after Skitter attacks, no bruises littering his skin like Stiles’. His body’s still firm and toned, pale on his chest from lack of sunlight but bronzed on his forearms. Stiles reaches out to his pants but Derek swats his hands away, opens his button and unzips the zipper. The dips on his hipbones disappear beneath his jeans, mouth-watering and just begging to be touched and Stiles runs his fingers over them. Derek watches with dark eyes, groans as Stiles’ fingers dip into his jeans. He stands effortlessly, stooping slightly in the tent and kicks of his jeans and boxers and lowers himself back over Stiles.  
They’ve done things before, Derek had his mouth around Stiles’s dick a few days ago, and his fingers in his ass. Stiles has made Derek come with as little as a few well-placed touches and some dirty words in his ear but they haven’t done everything. Stiles is still a little nervous, still more than a little freaked out by trying to rectify wanting Derek with the way they used to be before all this happened. But his stomach clenches at the sight of Derek curling his fingers around himself, drawing his hand up once and running his thumb across the slit. His dick twitches against his stomach and Derek covers Stiles’s body with his own, wraps his hand around both of them and strokes. Stiles curses under his breath and gives himself over to Derek’s kiss, hard and desperate like he wants to apologise for disappearing last night, like he wants to crawl inside Stiles’ body and just stay there. Lying there, under Derek, his hand around both their dicks, his own painfully hard, it occurs to him so suddenly that he wants more than this, he wants everything from Derek. Stiles scratches his nails across Derek’s shoulder and pushes his hips upwards, fucking himself into Derek’s hand. 

“Derek…I…fuck…” Derek slides his mouth along Stiles’ jaw, hovers his lips close to Stiles’s, twists his hand and Stiles nearly bites through his lip. 

“What, Stiles?” Derek asks, his breath ghosting across Stiles’ lips, “Tell me what you need?” Stiles lifts his leg, wraps it around Derek’s waist and Derek slips one of his fingers into Stiles’s mouth. Stiles sucks on the finger, curls his tongue around it and groans as Derek drives his hips downwards. Derek pulls his finger out of Stiles’s mouth and slips it down between Stiles’s legs, he circles his finger around Stiles’s hole, pushes it inside and Stiles feels his orgasm coil in the pit of his stomach. 

“Fuck…I want…” He can barely get his words out and Derek curls his finger inside him, twists his hand again, his body heavy against Stiles’. 

“What? Tell me,” Derek urges. 

“Everything, I want you to fuck me… _please_ ,” he begs, words spilling from his lips and Derek stills. 

“Stiles…I…” he kisses Stiles, hard and almost punishing, moving his hand, his dick sliding against Stiles’. It doesn’t take long for Stiles to come, whole body seizing as Derek twists his hand, runs his thumb over the slit in Stiles’s dick, and Stiles comes all over Derek’s hand and his own stomach, his cry swallowed by Derek’s kiss. 

As if Stiles coming on his hand is enough, Derek comes a few seconds later, wrenching his mouth away from Stiles’ and biting down on the soft skin of his neck.

The camps coming awake around them, but Stiles can only concentrate on the wet, warm breath of Derek brushing against his skin, and the way Derek’s heartbeat thumps through his own chest. Derek lifts his head, kisses up Stiles’s jaw to his mouth. 

“I want that too,” he says quietly, lifting himself off Stiles slightly but staying close. He runs one hand up Stiles’ ribs, “but I want to do it right.” 

“Derek Hale,” Stiles laughs gently, “a romantic…who knew?” 

…

They’ve been driving for months now, almost 7 to be exact and Stiles knows they can’t stay anywhere long but it’s getting more and more difficult to say goodbye to the good places they find. The old school, the warehouse, a small gated community where every family got their own house for a few nights. 

They’re in an abandoned Mall at the moment, and miraculously a lot of the stores have been left untouched. Stiles breaks into a Drug Store and pilfers a packet of condoms and lube when no one’s looking, shoving them into his backpack and hopes to God his face isn’t too red. He and Derek haven’t really talked about “going all the way” but Stiles knows Derek wants to do it right, so condoms and lube it is. He doesn’t even look, just picks up the nearest bottle and bolts, heading round to the painkillers and getting as many as he can carry for Melissa. 

Stiles wants nothing more than to stop, to set up somewhere and wait this whole thing out but he knows they can’t do that. This isn’t a question of waiting it out, they have to go on the offensive, they have to find other people, make their group bigger if they want to make a difference.

Stiles grabs a bottle of Peroxide for Lydia and shoves that into his backpack as well, and heads off to find a hardware store to restock his own supplies. 

…

“Did you get…” 

“Yup,” Stiles holds out the Peroxide and Lydia’s face lights up as she holds her hands out like a child, wiggling her fingers at Stiles. 

“Life saver,” she breathes and cradles the bottle like it’s the answer to everyone’s prayers. 

“What you doing with it anyway?” Stiles asks and Lydia swipes a lock of hair off her forehead and looks up from the array of things littered around her crossed legs. 

“Making bombs,” she answers and Stiles nods because _obviously_. 

“How’s Jackson doing?” Stiles asks, slipping to the floor next to her. Lydia sighs and sits back, resting her weight on her hands behind her. 

“He’s ok…managing to stay him for the most part, although sometimes I can’t help thinking that maybe if we could find a way to help him control it…we could have an advantage. We have no idea what his venom could do to the Skitters and I want to find out. But he’s holding on so tight to himself.” She sighs again.

“He’s trying to protect you, Lyds.” Lydia wrinkles her nose at the nickname but nods. 

“I guess. I just…we need some of that venom, I can add it to the bombs and see what happens,” Lydia has become the explosive expert. Her Molotov Cocktails work like a dream and she’s constantly trying to figure out new ways to improve them. 

“I can talk to Derek, see if we can figure out a way to get some?” Stiles asks and Lydia’s face goes from worried to mischievous in a second. 

“Derek huh?” She nudges her shoulder against Stiles’s. 

“Et tu, Lyds?” Stiles grumbles and Lydia wraps her arms around him and presses her face to his arm. 

“I love you, Stiles, so if he hurts you I will cut his dick off and make him eat it.” Stiles laughs and kisses the top of her head. 

“I’m so glad you’re on my side.” 

…

“No…absolutely not.” 

“But dad…” Stiles implores as his father crosses his arms over his chest and glares, he looks at Derek who has his hands in his pockets obviously not wanting to get involved in this argument at all. 

“I said no, that kid is far too dangerous to play around with,” John slams his hand on the table of his makeshift command centre.

“That _kid_ ,” Stiles says, “who happens to be the same age as me by the way, might be the only advantage we have against these aliens. Derek?” Stiles glances at Derek who looks like a deer caught in headlights. 

“Might be worth a shot,” he mutters and John sighs. 

“Oh great, now I’m stuck with _two_ idiots.” 

“Dad, we can’t just sit around waiting for them to attack, driving across the country until gas runs out. Then what? We make a stand and we make it with Jackson,” Stiles draws in a breath and the silence from his father speaks volumes. Before this, Stiles never would have spoken to his dad like that but this is important to him, this could be a turning point in their plan. John stares at him, flicks his gaze to Derek. 

“I want more than 5 words from you about this,” he says and Derek swallows. 

“The venom paralyses wolves, it might work on the Skitters, _might_ ,” he emphasises and he looks at Stiles. “But getting some from Jackson is dangerous, for him and us. He’s holding onto himself and we don’t want to let the Kanima out, not now Jackson’s come this far.” 

“We can’t keep him in there, he’ll eventually explode,” Stiles protests, “well not literally explode but you know what I mean.” 

“We can’t control him, Stiles,” Derek counters and John nods along with him. Stiles hadn’t really known how Derek was going to go with this, but he’s pretty sure both him and his dad have a point. This is dangerous. Its reckless, but they have to try something. 

“No,” Stiles agrees, “but I know someone who can.” 

“You can’t be…” Derek starts. 

“I’ll do it,” Lydia walks into the room, head held high to give the impression of being sure, but she still looks small. There’s a determination on her face that Stiles hasn’t seen for a while and he smiles gently at her. She tucks her hair behind an ear. “I’ll do it.” 

“Lydia…” John looks at her. She grits her teeth and looks back at him. Derek’s looking pissed and worried and directing it at Stiles. He shifts under the scrutiny. 

“I’m the only one Jackson hasn’t even almost turned with, he’s himself with me, he said so himself. If I can keep him from turning, I can control him when he does. Or bring him back.” She crosses her arms over her chest and Stiles looks at his dad. A million arguments are running through his head, Stiles can tell, mixed emotions flicking over his face as he looks between Lydia and Stiles. He finally settles on Derek. 

“And what do you think about this?” He asks and Derek looks at Stiles. Stiles nods once and Derek looks back at John. 

“I think it might work.” 

John pinches the bridge of his nose. “I am surrounded by suicidals.” 

…

“Do you have any idea how dangerous this is?” Derek shouts once he and Stiles are alone. Stiles blinks as anger heats up his blood. 

“Why stand up for it then?” He counters and Derek throws his hands up in the arm. 

“Oh I don’t know,” he replies sarcastically, “Because I thought we were a partnership,” he starts pacing in front of Stiles. 

“We are,” Stiles says, wanting to stop Derek from pacing with a hand to his arm, he holds back though and Derek stops pacing and rounds on him. 

“Then why was that the first time I heard of that plan?” he demands and Stiles blinks, his anger dissipating as quickly as it appeared. 

“Derek…” he tries and Derek snorts at the soft tone of Stiles’s voice. 

“It’s reckless…” Derek says and Stiles raises an eyebrow. 

“So are we, remember?” he says, going for light and joking but Derek holds a finger up like a warning, anger colouring his eyes. 

“Don’t…” Derek takes a step forward, “don’t use that against me.” 

“I’m not, Derek…this… _Jackson_ , could be the one thing that gives us an advantage.” He implores and Derek shakes his head, his hands balling into fists by his side. 

“It could also get you killed,” he practically shouts and Stiles takes a step forward to meet him. 

“Or you,” he pokes Derek in the chest and Derek swipes his hand away angrily. 

“That doesn’t matter,” Derek shakes his head again, dismissively. 

“Yes it does!” Stiles shouts and Derek blinks at him, “to me, Derek. It matters a hell of a lot to me. So don’t you ever think it doesn’t …” Derek pulls him close, one hand cupped around his cheek, “…let me go, I’m pissed at you right now.” 

“I’m sorry,” He wraps his arms around Stiles and holds him close, his lips moving against Stiles’ hair, “I’m sorry.” 

“I’m so fucking sick of trying to hold it together, Derek, I just wanna fight back, I want…” he trails off and Derek pulls away enough to get a finger under Stiles’ chin. 

“What?” He searches Stiles’ face. 

“I just want everything to go back to how it was before,” as soon as he says it he knows it was a mistake. Derek drops him like he’s been burned, steps back and looks at Stiles like Stiles killed his puppy. 

“Really?” 

“No…Derek, you idiot, not like that just…without homicidal aliens running around ok? I wouldn’t give this,” he gestures between them with a flick of his wrist, “up for anything.” He takes a tentative step towards Derek and when Derek doesn’t move away, he takes another. “Because no matter how much this freaks me out, I think its worth it.” 

“Still freaking you out?” Derek asks, his voice quiet and small like Stiles has never heard before. Stiles steps forward again and brushes his fingers down Derek’s arm. Derek opens his hand and Stiles runs the tips of his index finger down his palm. Derek curls his fingers inwards, trapping Stiles’ in his grasp. 

“No…well…what’s freaking me out is how it’s not freaking me out,” Stiles says and Derek raises an eyebrow. “Can we have sex now?” Derek chokes and Stiles grins at him. 

“Right now?” 

“Why not?” Stiles looks around them, the small, dusty utility room of the mall is not the appropriate place for them to consummate their relationship but Stiles is starting to get itchy under his skin about it. 

“Because we have to a world to save.” Derek replies, with a voice so serious that if Stiles hadn’t known him, he would think he was being serious. Stiles just mock salutes at him. 

“Ok, Captain America, let’s go save the world.” 

…

Back when this first started Stiles had grand plans, of finding somewhere safe and starting fresh, growing fruit and vegetables, getting someone else to rear the animals and kill them for meat. Of perhaps teaming up with a group of Military Men who would protect their little band of people. Settling down and repopulating the world. 

Back then he thought that the Aliens would come, destroy as much as they could, then go back to whatever hell they came from, leaving the World to lick its wounds and start over. 

The Aliens hadn’t left, and people were still dying trying to fight them off. They hadn’t found their Army support, or a safe place to stay. 

What he did find, though, was Derek. Derek who’s asleep next to him now, face smooshed on the arm curled under his head. Derek who used to scare the crap out of Stiles who now is his safe place. Stiles runs his fingers across Derek’s knuckles and Derek’s lips twitch in his sleep. He’s terrified by the rush of emotions that flood his system as Derek’s eyes blink open, the rush of _love_ that hits him like a tidal wave as Derek’s eyes narrow. 

“You ok?” Derek asks, and Stiles nods, swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. “Stiles?”

“Nothing,” he shakes his head and curses Derek’s werewolf senses that pick up the trip in his heartbeat that shouts his lie loud and clear. Derek cocks his head to the side. “Nothing just…” he reaches for Derek and kisses him, more to stop the words he wants to say coming out of his mouth than anything. Derek fights it for a moment but then goes with it, falling over Stiles and kissing him back.

“What’s wrong?” Derek mutters against his mouth and Stiles works his fingers under the sleeping back and across Derek’s skin. 

“Want you,” Stiles replies, tugging him down and slotting their hips together. Derek growls softly. 

“You have me,” Derek replies and rolls his hips. Stiles sucks in a breath that tastes like Derek and sex. 

“No I…” Stiles trails off as Derek pulls back and looks at him. Stiles runs his hands up Derek’s forearms where they’re braced either side of him. He distracts himself with the feel of Derek’s smooth skin under his palms. 

“Stiles,” Derek pushes and Stiles blinks up at him, taking in his ridiculously good looking face, the jaw that could cut glass, the teeth biting into his bottom lip that are slightly too big but make his face all the more interesting. 

“I just want to pretend that everything’s ok for a while, that it’s just you and me, and none of this _shit_ is going on around us and I don’t have to force a friend to turn into something he hates to harvest fucking snake venom from him to try and kill Aliens,” Stiles hears his own voice rising to hysteria and Derek moves one hand, cradles the top of Stiles’ head as he presses a kiss to the tip of Stiles’ nose. It’s so stupidly intimate and soft that Stiles lets out an hysterical sob-laugh. “It’s all fucked.” 

“It’s not,” Derek says quietly, rubbing the tips of his fingers back and forth across Stiles’s scalp. “It’s not.”

“I think I love you,” Stiles blurts and Derek smiles a little smile, kisses him gently. 

“I think I love you too.” Stiles feels a sense of calm wash over him, a fully body sigh that leaves his limbs lax and comfortably numb. Derek seems to pick up the feeling and starts moving his hips again, his fingers still running through Stiles’s hair.

“I got some supplies,” Stiles says, as Derek lowers his head to Stiles’s pulse point in his neck. He breathes in deep, licks at the skin. 

“Boy scout,” he mutters, pulling back long enough to shimmy out of his own boxers and pulls Stiles’s off.

“Always prepared,” he laughs gently, feels the threat of hysteria bubble up his throat again and Derek stops it with a kiss that feels like forever. 

“Where?” Derek asks, kneeling above him, broad chest looking darker in the dim light of their tent. Stiles nods his head in the direction of his backpack, propped up in the corner of the tent and Derek practically lunges across the space and drags it towards him. He digs around before bringing out the bottle of lube and box of condoms with a flourish that makes him look so much younger than his 25 years. He fishes out one condom and drops the box back to the floor, crawls back over Stiles and pops the lid of the tube with his thumb. His hands shake slightly and Stiles’s stomach flips as the clear liquid pools out onto Derek’s fingers. “Relax,” Derek says, dropping the bottle to the floor and reaching down between them. Derek’s hand is cool, slick and unfamiliar like this, the touch is the same but the feel completely different. Stiles sucks in a breath and Derek tightens his grip at the base of Stiles’s dick. He strokes him once, twice, twisting his hand on the upstroke, running his palm across the tip and then his hand’s gone, fingers ghosting over his balls, trailing down his perineum, circling his hole. Stiles groans, lifts his leg around Derek as Derek pushes his index finger in past the ring of muscle. He’s used to the intrusion, but there’s still a slight sting, a good bite of pain against the pleasure of Derek’s kisses against his skin. Derek hooks his finger, adds another, kisses the embarrassing whimper Stiles lets out from of his mouth. It feels good, full and perfect and Derek adds another finger, curls all three of them inside him and sparks burst behind his eyelids. 

“Holy fuck.” Derek laughs against his neck, does it again and Stiles nearly comes right there. 

He doesn’t think he could feel any more full of Derek and when Derek slides his fingers out, spreading them slightly as he does, Stiles has a minor stab of panic in his gut. Derek’s not small, Stiles has had his dick in his hands, in his mouth even and his jaw hurt for a day after that. Derek seems to pick up the worry and kisses him slow and deep until Stiles feels the calm settle in his bones again. Stiles can feel Derek’s dick against his hip, hard and leaking pre-come over his skin, Derek moves his hips, groans and lifts Stiles’s leg higher, and moves. His dick presses against Stiles’s hole, a stab of pressure that makes Stiles tense. “Relax,” Derek says again, lips against Stiles’s. He pushes in, slow but in one go. It hurts, but at the same time Stiles feels a sense of _this is what I have been waiting for_ as Derek pushes all the way in and holds still, forehead pressed to Stiles’. “Ok?” Stiles drags in a breath, getting used to the feeling of Derek inside him and Derek drags in his own shaky breath, whole body quivering above Stiles. “Fuck, Stiles…tell me you’re ok.” 

“I’m ok…just…wait...” Derek cradles his head between his hands again and Stiles wraps his other leg around his waist. Derek grunts. There’s sweat building where their skin is pressed together and Stiles’ skin slides against Derek’s. “Ok.” Derek moves his hips, slowly, pulling out agonisingly unhurried in his movements. The drag of his dick against Stiles’ insides just makes Stiles want more, harder, faster. Derek stops just before he pulls all the way out, pushes back in, his muscles working under Stiles’ hands where they’re pressed to his lower back. His dick drags across that spot inside Stiles and Stiles digs his fingernails into Derek’s skin. 

Derek keeps up the slow rhythm, keeping Stiles hard and wanting more. Skin sliding against skin, sweat pooling in the hollow at the base of his throat, Derek licks at it, bites across his neck, pushes in, pulls out, drives Stiles fucking crazy with the need for something more, _anything_. 

“Derek…come on,” Stiles pleads, arching his neck and pulling Derek in with his legs. 

“God I…you feel so good, Stiles…I…” Derek mutters, pushing in harder than before. It pushes the air from Stiles’ lungs and he struggles for breath for a second until Derek pulls out and pushes back in and Stiles picks up the rhythm, lifting his hips to match Derek’s thrusts. Derek pulls one hand from Stiles’ hair, worms it between their slick chests and curls his long fingers around Stiles’ dick. Stiles nearly bites through his own lip, vision going white as Derek twists his hand, pushes hard in and Stiles comes. Stomach coiling, thighs tingling, balls tightening, comes hard enough to see stars and he’s pretty sure he passes out for a second. Derek follows a few moments later, Stiles’ name half bitten out on his lips, fingers caught in Stiles’ hair. 

He collapses onto Stiles, breathing heavy, moist breaths against Stiles’ neck. 

“Well that was,” Stiles starts and Derek pulls out slowly, his dick sliding out of Stiles’ body and leaving him feeling empty. 

“Don’t…” Derek mutters then lifts his head. His lips are swollen, hair messy from Stiles’ fingers and his eyes are heavy, “don’t ruin it.” There’s a smile threatening at the corner of his lips. “You ok?” He asks, suddenly serious, rolling slightly to the side and laying his hand flat against Stiles’s stomach. He runs his fingers through the mess on Stiles stomach. It should be disgusting, gross and make Stiles want to shower but it makes his dick stirs valiantly again, the thought of his come on Derek’s fingers. 

“I’m good,” he reaches up and pets Derek’s cheek. Derek leans into the touch, rubs his stubbled cheek against Stiles’ palm, “I’m good.” 

…

“You sure about this?” 

The whole team’s assembled. John at one side of his slightly broken table, maps strewn across the chipped top. Scott and Allison stand pressed close together, crossbow slung across Allison’s shoulders. Chris stands next to her, silent in his obvious anger. Jackson’s got Lydia’s hand in his, but he looks embarrassed about showing his weakness to the rest of them. Isaac and Boyd stand side by side. They’ve grown practically inseparable since Erica died. Danny’s helping Melissa with the rest of the group, they’ve got a couple of colds and a case of chickenpox so Melissa needs all the help she can get. 

Derek stands next to Stiles, his arms crossed over his chest and Stiles can’t help thinking everyone knows what they did last night, like “we had sex” is blazoned across his forehead in indelible bright red ink. Stiles’ whole body hurts in a way that feels like he had a really good workout yesterday, stiff and sore but the kind of pain you poke at, like a pulled muscle. 

Jackson nods at John, swallows and even Stiles can pick up his worry from across the room. 

“Because if you’re not…” John trails off and Jackson takes a deep breath. 

“If this can help then, we’re doing it.” Stiles sees his grip on Lydia’s hand tighten a little. Jackson’s grown since the invasion, since the Aliens took his money and his parents. He’s grown up, into an actual friend of Stiles’, which surprised them both. Stiles knows he’s worried, can’t begin to comprehend how worried though, but Jackson’s managed to keep a lid on the Kanima for a while now, working with Lydia and Allison to calm himself down enough to keep from turning. It’s worked so far, but Stiles can see the rising panic in him that he might not be able to come back from this turn. Lydia tugs his arm closer and wraps her own around it, pressing his lips to his shoulder. 

“Ok.” John nods, a little sadly, like they’re stepping over a line here that once crossed, can’t be uncrossed. “So I assume _someone’s_ come up with a plan?” John asks and Lydia nods, steps forward, half in front of Jackson. Stiles recognises the gesture as one of protection and it doesn’t hurt him the way it would have before, because Derek’s standing right next to him, close and body radiating warmth. Stiles is so far gone with Derek that no one else seems to filter into his senses anymore. Derek uncrosses his arms and squeezes Stiles’ hand briefly. 

“We need to find a safe room, somewhere where Jackson can…” she stalls and bites her lip. 

“Turn,” Jackson adds and touches Lydia’s back. Lydia leans into the touch slightly. 

“Turn,” she swallows, “and once he’s gone, Derek and Boyd will,” she tucks her hair behind her ear like she’s embarrassed, her voice catching as she glances back at Jackson. He nods once. “Harvest some of his venom. I found a microscope in one of the toy stores, surprisingly good for a kids one. I think the best way is to catch a Skitter and keep them here to see how the venom affects them.”

“Whoa,” John holds up his hands, looking at them all like they’ve gone mad. “Catch one? You’re talking about experimenting on them? _Here_?”

“Look, dad,” Stiles steps up to the table, his hand slipping from Derek’s, “I know this is way out of your comfort zone right now, it’s out of ours too but we have to do this. We have to break the rules a little if we’re going to make any dent in these bastards. We have to use every advantage that we have.” John shakes his head, pinches the bridge of his nose and runs his hand over his face. It’s the exasperated look her gets whenever Stiles has one of his crazy ideas. The look he always got back when things were normal. 

John moves from behind the desk and claps a hand around Jackson’s shoulder. 

“I just don’t want you to get hurt, son,” he says and beneath the tough exterior, the ‘I’m Jackson Fucking Whittemore’ stance he’s taking, Stiles can see the way he crumbles slightly under the soft tone his dad’s giving him. The genuine concern that Jackson hasn’t heard in someone’s voice for a while now. 

“It’s the best thing to do,” Jackson replies and John searches his face for a while, then nods, stepping back and gesturing to Lydia who steps up to centre stage. 

“I’ve been looking at the old blueprints of the mall that I found in the office,” she reaches back to Jackson who hands her a large rolled up piece of paper, she spreads it out over the table, “here’s what I think we should do…” 

…

Turns out there’s an old plant room in the basement of the mall. Long pipes running along the walls, machines that used to power the elevators now all quiet, the heavy steel doors still look solid though and Stiles is pretty sure it’ll serve their purpose. He raps on the door once, testing, and the sound echoes off the damp walls. 

“We need chains,” Derek says and Stiles suppresses the urge to make a joke, about him and Derek and chains. “Strong ones.” 

“There’s a hardware store in the mall, second floor. I’ll go check it out,” he says and Derek nods. Stiles turns to go but Derek catches his hand.

“You ok?” he asks, dragging him close and tipping his head back with a thumb under his chin. Stiles feels the need to melt into Derek’s touch but ignores it. He nods, closing his eyes as Derek’s thumb runs its path down his throat. 

“Good,” he says and opens his eyes to find Derek staring straight back at him. “Are you?” Derek kisses him, quick and easy, like Stiles is just leaving for milk instead of going to find chains to tie up his friend to make him turn into a monster to harvest his venom. 

“Good,” Derek parrots and Stiles grins, tugs him closer with his fingers curls into the belt loops on Derek’s jeans. “Stiles.” 

“What?” Stiles asks innocently, licking at his bottom lip and pulling it between his teeth. Derek growls softly. 

“Now is _not_ the time,” Derek’s eyes flutter as Stiles gets one finger inside his jeans, knuckles pressing against his taut stomach. 

“I know,” Stiles replies and he wants to step away, to get this done so he can lock him and Derek away for a good while and he can memorise every little thing about Derek. He wants to push Derek down and climb on top, ride him until neither of them can see straight. He wants to watch Derek come apart under his hands. He wants…

“ _Stiles_ …” Derek sounds torn, turned on yet not wanting to be and Stiles clears his throat and steps back. “You’re insatiable…I’ve created a monster.” Derek goes for light and easy but the buzz of lust is still thick in the air between them. Stiles just shrugs, feeling cooler now there’s distance between them. 

“Ok…I’m gonna go…find chains,” he stops and resolutely does _not_ think about silvery metal chains wrapped around his wrists whilst Derek fucks him into the nearest hard surface. 

“Stiles!” Derek sways slightly, his nostrils flaring and Stiles grins sheepishly. 

“Sorry…going.” 

He ducks out of the room before he can think any more. 

…

The hardware store is creepy abandoned like this, the lack of electricity makes the shadows longer, the rakes and shovels look menacing as Stiles makes his way over to the roll of chains by the back wall. The thicker the better, Stiles thinks as he runs his fingers over the cool metal links, remembering the strength Jackson has when he’s turned. There’s all kinds of chains here, strong thin ones, thicker ones that look easier to break than the thin ones, dull metallic ones, bright silver. Right next to them, at the end, there’s rolls of wire, it’s the kind of steel wire that’s used in construction and Stiles wrinkles his nose as he thinks. That could work. He grabs one and sits it on the floor next to him. Looking back at the chains he takes one of the heaviest, uses the cutters hanging up by the rolls and manages to cut through one link, using all his strength. He rolls that up over his shoulder. Grabbing the roll of wire from the floor, he makes his way back through the hardware store, picking his way past nails and bolts. He wonders briefly if Lydia could fashion a nail bomb, and shoves a handful of them into his pocket, along with a large, heavy padlock that he opens first. 

He’s halfway down the stair, the large curved staircase in the middle of the mall when he stops, the air feels wrong somehow and it only takes his a few seconds to pick out the unmistakable noise if the Skitters claws clacking against a hard surface. His skin prickles, adrenaline immediately flooding his system, fight or flight response fighting it out in his body. He should run, try to put as much distance between him and the Skitter and hope to god that he runs into someone with a weapon before the bastard catches up. But they need this one, they need a live one to see how Jackson’s venom will work on them. He curls his hand slowly around the roll of chain on his shoulder, dropping the steel cable to the floor. The Skitter moves again, from behind his left shoulder and Stiles takes the chain from his shoulder. It clatters to the floor and he wraps one end around his hand a couple of times. 

“You just gonna hang there?” Stiles asks over his shoulder, not daring to turn around but knowing he needs to, “or are you gonna do something?” Stiles spins, the chain rattling as it drags across the floor, it’s heavier than he thought, easy to carry on your shoulder, not so easy to wield as a weapon against an alien hell bent of your demise. “Come on!” 

The Skitter moves, jumps from the corner of the ceiling and skitters across the floor towards him. Stiles feels his stomach lurch but he swings the chain at its head. It misses, goes wide but the Skitter keeps coming, its claws clacking slightly, bug like chirp emitting from what Stiles assumes is his throat. Stiles backs up, swings the chain again and it catches one of the Skitters legs. It doesn’t even lose a step, keeps coming and reaches out one of its arms and knocks Stiles to the floor. He tumbles down the stairs, knees, elbows, head hitting them as he rolls and lands at the bottom with a grunt. His shoulder hurts, his head pounding and his vision goes red. Stiles swipes angrily at his head, a smear of blood across the back of his hand. The Skitter jumps from the next level, lands over Stiles looks down at him with soulless eyes. Stiles swallows, drags himself backwards and ignores the sharp pain in his wrist. He scrambles to his feet, and the Skitter cocks its head to the side. Stiles runs, dragging the chain behind him, runs as fast as he can, he can hear the creature behind him and he stops, turns on one foot, swings the chain one last time. It hits the side of the Skitters head, bounces off but it gives Stiles enough time as its dazed, to swing again. This time it works, the chain hitting the side of the Skitters neck, wrapping around it two or three times as the momentum keeps it moving. Stiles spares no time in celebrating, grabs the end of the chain pulls, using all his strength and pulls. The Skitter falls, its legs going out from under him and Stiles manages to get the chain through one of the bars in a security grill on one of the old shops. The Skitter gets back to its feet, advances on Stiles, oblivious to the chain around its throat. Stiles pulls again, using the body weight to pull the chain through the bars and snaps the padlock through two of the links. The thing struggles for a moment, struggles and the chain tightens. It goes down, hanging by its throat and Stiles scrambles backwards, rests against the opposite wall and just breathes. 

He looks at it as it hangs there. Still alive but barely moving. Its skin with its slight sheen, the dark metallic green, its soulless dead eyes staring back at Stiles. 

He’s still staring at it when he hears a pounding a running feet and Scott and Derek skid around the nearest corner. Scott stops dead, stares open mouthed at the Skitter and Derek runs to Stiles, drops down next to him and his hands travel across every inch he can find. 

“Are you ok? Did it hurt you? What hurts, Stiles? Stiles? Tell me what hurts?” Stiles lifts his wrist, already swollen, bruise forming across his skin and Derek curls both hands around it, his palms hot against Stiles’ skin. Black travels up Derek’s veins as Stiles watches and the pain lessens. Derek lets go, sways slightly and cups a hand around Stiles’s face. “What else? Stiles? Talk to me.” 

“I’m ok,” Stiles says, nodding at Derek and curling his fingers around Derek’s wrist, grounding himself with Derek’s skin under his touch. “I’m ok.” 

“Jesus,” Derek pulls him close, buries his head in Stiles’ neck, “God I thought…” 

“I’m ok,” Stiles says again, running his fingers into Derek’s hair and Scott clears his throat. 

“Nicely done, Stiles,” Scott whistles, as Derek and Stiles let each other go, and he walks around the Skitter, looking at it as it tries to scramble to its feet. “You got one.” 

“It’s not that secure,” Stiles says, taking a step forward, “we should…” Derek growls softly, pulls him back and wraps an arm around his shoulders.

“Scott, Isaac and Boyd should…you’re not doing anything except going to get checked out by Melissa,” Derek’s got that tone that broaches now arguments and Stiles sighs. 

“Ok…fine.” Isaac and Boyd appear round the corner. Isaac looks incredibly impressed, Boyd his usual impassive face as he stares at the Skitter. Derek nods at them, then the Skitter, the unsaid “take care of it” loud and clear in the relative silence. Derek then puts a hand on Stiles’  
lower back and ushers him down the mall corridor towards Melissa. 

Stiles can feel anger radiating off Derek, and even though he knows, rationally, Derek isn’t pissed at him per se, it still irritates him that Derek gets to be angry now, Derek gets to be pissed. At Stiles. When Stiles was the one hurt, scared out of his fucking pants, dealing with a Skitter on his own. 

He wants to say something, anything to break the silence but he keeps his mouth shut as Derek leads him towards Melissa’s make shift hospital. 

Melissa looks up from his dismal supply of medications and smiles at them, her smile drops when she sees Stiles’s arm cradled against his body and Derek’s furious face. She glares at Derek like its his fault. 

“What happened?” She demands, pulling Stiles away from Derek and pushing him down into a chair. 

“Skitter in the mall,” Derek barks out, “make sure he’s ok.” Then he’s gone and Stiles heaves a sigh of relief. 

“You ok?” Melissa tips his head back and uses one of the stolen ophthalmoscopes to look into the back of his eyes. It aches at the back of his head and Stiles blinks when Melissa pulls away. “Did you hit your head?” 

“Yeah,” Stiles remembers tumbling down the stairs, “fell down the stairs, hurt my wrist, jarred my shoulder.” Melissa pokes gently at the skin on his forehead and reaches backwards to grab an antibacterial wipe. She wipes gently, inspecting the clean skin and purses her lips. 

“You know you’re not like Scott, right?” She says and Stiles sighs, winces as she places two butterfly strips across his cut. 

“What was I meant to do?” He asks, “I can’t outrun them.” Melissa cups his cheek gently. 

“Just…” she reaches down and gently cradles his wrist in her hands. She presses her thumbs into the skin and Stiles winces again. “Remember that people love you ok?” She looks right at him and Stiles feels a swell of love for the women who became a surrogate mother when his own died. He remembers all the times he tried to get Melissa and his dad together, him and Scott hatching elaborate plans that without a doubt went awry. “I don’t think it’s broken,” She says eventually, having turned manipulated it cautiously, “Just a bad sprain but you need to rest it.” She says it with a raised eyebrow like she knows Stiles won’t do what she says. “You may have a concussion too so don’t sleep for the next couple of hours, get someone to keep you awake.” 

She binds his wrist, tightly in bandages that take a lot of the pressure away, makes it harder to Stiles to move it in the wrong way. 

“Stiles?” She says just as Stiles is getting up from his chair. “Um…” She flips her hair back off her shoulder. “Have you…spoken to your dad recently?” Stiles frowns, his head pounding from the tumble down the stairs. 

“No…why?” 

“Just…no reason,” She flicks through some things on a table and for once Stiles thinks she looks nervous. 

“What’s going on?” Stiles narrows his eyes and Melissa avoids his gaze. 

“Nothing,” She puts her hands in her pockets, takes them out again, fiddles with her watch. 

“Melissa,” Stiles urges and Melissa takes a few steps forward. 

“ _Nothing_ …take these,” she shoves a few painkillers into his hands. “I’ve got things to do, Stiles, go rest.” She pushes Stiles gently out of the room and shuts the door. 

And with that, Stiles is left staring at the closed door and wondering what the hell is going on. 

…

Derek’s brooding. 

Stiles can practically feel it across the room, Derek’s jaw muscles twitching, his hands clenched at his sides as Lydia goes over the plan one more time. Stiles’s head hurts, his wrist aches, he wants to sleep but he’s not allowed and his one solace, Derek, is behaving like a spoilt child. He sighs, loudly and Derek glares at him across the room. 

The plan is pretty simple, get Jackson into the plant room, tie him up with the steel cables, and leave him to it. Jackson is pretty sure he can let the Kanima out once he’s alone, he just needs to relax he says. What everyone else isn’t sure about is if Lydia is going to be able to bring him back. 

“Once he’s turned, Isaac, Boyd, Scott and Derek will try to get some venom,” she turns back to Jackson and stares at him, “then I bring him back.” 

John scrubs a hand down his face. 

“Meanwhile I try to keep the rest of the group from figuring out what the hell we’re doing,” he says and braces his hands on the table. “I don’t need to tell you all that this is incredibly dangerous, and could backfire in a million and one different ways,” everyone nods, Lydia reaching Jackson and touching his hand. “Ok then. Be sensible, no unnecessary risks and I can't believe I am talking to you lot as adults when what seems like yesterday I was grounding you all.” John sighs again and everyone takes that as their cue to leave. They filter out, Derek glancing at Stiles before striding out and Stiles hangs back, perching his hip against the corner of the table. 

“Trouble in paradise?” John asks and Stiles shrugs, wincing as it jars his shoulders. 

“He’s being childish, it’ll pass.” Stiles waves his good hand around in front of them in a dismissive gesture. “So…what’s going on with you and Melissa?” John chokes and blinks up at Stiles. 

“What? I…what? Did she tell you?” He asks and Stiles laughs, claps his dad on the shoulder. 

“No, you just did. Seriously though, is this what Scott and I used to plan all those years ago?” John blushes slightly and its strange seeing his dad squirm like this. Stiles bites on his bottom lip to stop himself from laughing again. 

“I don’t know yet,” John admits, “but…Stiles, I’m lonely, she’s lonely, this world’s gone to hell.” Stiles steps forward and rests his hand on his dad’s shoulder again, gently this time. 

“Preaching to the choir dad,” Stiles smiles and John shrugs. 

“I honestly don’t know where this is going, and I’m not trying to replace you mom, I…” 

“Hey, dad. It’s good, ok? It’s great,” Stiles grins, “a little disturbing now I know what actually happens when two adults get together, rather than just hugging, but great.” He grins again and his dad smacks him round the back of the head. 

“Get out of here and go turn your friend into a giant Lizard…our lives are weird.” 

…

Stiles leans against the door frame of the plant room, watching Derek move the odd piece of furniture around, moving one chair into the middle of the room. He tenses when Stiles draws near but doesn’t stop moving and Stiles entertains himself by watching him for a minute or two. 

“How long are you going to sulk for? Like, do I need to move out of your tent or are you going to be over it in about ten minutes? And here I was thinking I was the girl in this relationship...” Derek slams the chair down to the floor, it creaks under his strength and Stiles pushes himself off the door frame. 

“You’re starting to piss me off, Derek,” Stiles mutters and Derek whirls around to face him. Stiles catches a glimpse of red in his eyes. 

“You have no idea,” he all but shouts and Stiles blinks, raises his own voice to match Derek’s. 

“About what Derek? I’m trying but you’re pushing me out, so what? What do I have no idea about?” 

“You have no idea how scared I was,” Derek sounds small and lost, and Stiles doesn’t hear him for a second, opens his mouth to answer in yet another tirade of how Derek can be pissed at him for getting hurt when the words sink into his mind. 

“…wait…what?” 

“I was terrified, Stiles, that I was going to get there too late, that you were going to be hurt, that I couldn’t save you…I…can’t lose you too, not now.” He reaches for Stiles but changes his mind and drops his hands back to his sides. 

“Derek, you’re not going to lose me,” Stiles makes up Derek’s mind for him though, takes a step towards him and pulls him close. They may be the same height, but Derek’s got bulk on Stiles and it feels strange, good strange, pulling him close and hugging him like he’s the protector. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

Derek holds on, like Stiles is his lifeline, like Stiles is keeping him grounded and it’s unusual for Derek to show weakness like this. It scares Stiles slightly that they can be like this around each other. Derek curls his fingers into the back of Stiles’s shirt, breathes him in with his nose pressed to his neck. 

“Everyone leaves,” Derek mutters and Stiles holds him tighter, ignores the pain in his shoulder and wrist and just holds on. 

“I won’t.” 

…

Jackson looks like he’s about to vomit, skin pale and clammy as Derek ties him to the chair. Derek rests a hand on his shoulder briefly, nodding once at him. Derek seems no worse for wear after his mini meltdown a few hours earlier but Stiles keeps looking at him anyway, keeps touching him, reassuring Derek he’s still there. 

“Ready?” Derek asks and Jackson glances at Lydia. She smiles encouragingly, presses a kiss to his mouth and mutters something to him. When she pulls back, Jackson nods at Derek. They all step back, head towards the door. 

“Lydia,” Jackson calls and Lydia turns, her strawberry blond hair twirling. “You too.” Lydia smiles at him and turns back to the door, walks out without another backwards glance. 

Stiles pulls the door closed, bolts it, wraps a chain around the handle and padlocks it shut, with Derek, Isaac, Boyd and Scott on the other side. Lydia reaches down and slides her hand into his.  
“They’re going to be ok,” she says and Stiles nods. 

There’s no security cameras, not anymore, if there ever was down here, so Stiles and Lydia sink to the floor, their backs pressed up against the door and wait. 

They make small talk, hands still clasped around each other, eventually lapsing into silence until a lone growl filters through the door. It’s Derek, and Stiles is more than a little freaked out that he can tell that. They both stand, pushing themselves up and away from the door and more growls join Derek’s, and the chains wrapped around Jackson rattle. Fighting noises join the growls, crashes, grunts, the unmistakable sound of a body hitting a hard surface then silence. Lydia clutches at his hand and Stiles just breathes, dread prickling the back of his neck. 

“Stiles, open the door,” Scott’s voice, accompanied by the sound of his hand hitting the door breaks the silence and Stiles shoves his hand into his pocket for the key. “Stiles.” Scott sounds worried, bordering on panicked and Stiles’ hands shake as he unlocks the padlock, uncurls the chains and steps back. 

“Ok,” he shouts and the door swings open, Derek, holding Boyd up, Isaac looking vaguely pleased under the worry, and Scott looking like it’s his turn to vomit. Derek drags Boyd through the door, obviously under the effects of the venom and Lydia makes a move to step up for her job. 

“Wait,” Derek snaps, hands Boyd over to Scott and leads the way back into the room. The chains around Jackson are still rattling, the grunts and growls of an angered creature trying to get out so obvious and Lydia reaches underneath her jacket, pulls her necklace out from under her t-shirt and follows Derek back into the room. 

…

Stiles has no idea what happened in that room, Lydia doesn’t tell him, neither does Derek. But they’ve got the venom, got Jackson back, and he’s sleeping as Lydia works on trying to figure out if it will affect the Skitters at all. They’ve got the one Stiles caught tied up in the basement, it tries to make a bolt for it when they try to move it, but the wolves hold it down, drag it to the basement and throw it in the plant room. 

Stiles is exhausted, his eyes gritty, head pounding even more than before. He wants to sleep, curled up next to Derek with Derek’s arms around him. He wants to just pretend that they are not planning on torturing a living thing. No matter how evil that thing maybe, Stiles is having a hard time reconciling that in his mind. He pulls his and Derek’s sleeping bag tighter around his shoulders and waits for Derek to give up sulking and come back to him. 

It doesn’t take Derek long, an hour at the most but Stiles is half asleep when he gets there, legs pulled up to his chest. 

“You’re not meant to be sleeping,” he says and Stiles smiles as Derek reaches down and his fingers run down Stiles’s cheek. 

“I’m meant to have someone to help me not sleep, or to wake me every hour,” Stiles retaliates and Derek pulls off his shirt, toes off his shoes, lowers himself to the floor and pulls Stiles down with him. 

“How’s this?” he asks, his fingers playing along the bumps of Stiles’s spine. Stiles presses closer.  
“Not helping keeping me awake,” Stiles mutters and Derek pushes his thigh between his. 

“How’s this?” 

“I’m pretty sure I’m not meant to be having sex either,” Stiles replies and Derek huffs out a laugh then sobers. He looks at Stiles and cups at his face, runs the pad of his thumb across the dark circles under Stiles’s eye. 

“Let’s promise that we never do anything like that again,” Derek says and Stiles presses a kiss to Derek’s wrist. 

“What? Sex?” Stiles jokes and when Derek doesn’t reply, he sighs. “I’m not happy about using Jackson like that, but it was necessary, we might have a break through.” 

“Yeah,” Derek agrees, “might.” 

“I don’t want to argue anymore,” Stiles sighs and Derek kisses him in agreement. 

“Go to sleep,” he mutters against Stiles’s forehead, “I’ll wake you every hour.” 

…

True to his word, Derek wakes him every hour, quizzes him to make sure he’s still aware, things about past presidents, math questions that require only a tiny amount of thinking. By the fourth time Stiles is about ready to punch him in the face but he dutifully answers the questions and tries to get back to sleep. His wrist throbs though and he starts worrying about Lydia, Jackson and suddenly a thought occurs to him. 

“How’s Boyd?” he asks suddenly and Derek jumps a little. 

“He’s fine, just a scratch but the venom worked its magic anyway,” he sounds sleepy himself and Stiles had forgotten that Derek hadn’t slept for as long as Stiles hadn’t slept for, if not longer. He feels a stab of guilt. 

“I should probably see if Lyds needs a hand, why don’t you sleep?” Stiles pushes himself away from Derek, sits up and pinches the bridge of his nose as white lights dance behind his eyes. Derek’s hand on his arm keeps him upright though and Stiles opens his eyes to Derek’s worried face. “M’ok.” 

“Stiles…” Derek says and Stiles looks down at him. He looks small like this, younger than normal. “Seeing you…hurt like that...made me realise…” he pauses and blinks and Stiles touches the back of his hand. 

“What?” Derek’s voice is failing, sleep taking him over.

“Made me realise I don’t _think_ anymore…I _know_ ,” he closes his eyes and Stiles doesn’t ask what he means, just leans down and kisses his shoulder. 

“I know too.” 

Derek doesn’t answer, face smashed into the pillow and dark circles under his eyes. Stiles wants to stay there and drink in the sight of him relaxed and loose like that but he needs to go see if Lydia needs any help. He presses another kiss to Derek’s shoulder and Derek mutters something but stays asleep. Stiles’ head is pounding still, just a slight thumping ache behind his eyes but enough that it makes him feel like just crawling back into bed with Derek and sleeping until all of this is over. 

…

He finds Lydia in her makeshift lab, somewhere in the middle of the food court. Tables are spread out in a long line and she’s pilfered equipment from the various shops in the Mall and set up shop here. Some of the equipment laying on the tables next to her are utensils from the kitchens and Stiles smiles as she uses a large soup ladle to stir something and pour a ladle full into a large pan. 

“What you cooking?” He asks and Lydia looks up from the pot with a faint smile on her face. She looks tired and the more Stiles thinks about it, the more he notices that everyone is looking tired right now. Everyone needs more than a few days break. 

“Hey baby,” she says softly, pushing her hair off her forehead with the back of her arm. Stiles steps up to her and kisses her cheek. She smiles against his lips. Stiles leans over the pot and wrinkles his nose.

“What is that?” Lydia lets the ladle fall back into the steel pot and pulls off her latex gloves. 

“TATP,” she says simply and Stiles nods like he’s meant to know what that means. She sighs, “Triacetone-Triperoxide.” 

“Riiiiight.” Stiles draws the word out and nods sagely and Lydia rolls her eyes at him. 

“Honestly I don’t understand how you even passed Chemistry,” she shakes her head long-sufferingly. 

“I didn’t, remember? We got invaded before I could take the test…more’s the pity,” he says sarcastically and Lydia lets out a small laugh. 

“It’s an improvised explosive, very volatile though so watch it.” Lydia laughs again as Stiles takes a step back. 

“How you getting on with…” he trails off and Lydia reaches for a slide and pushes it under the clips on the microscope. 

“Jackson’s venom?” She puts her eyes to the microscope then looks back up and steps to the side. “Take a look.” Stiles steps up to the microscope and puts his eyes to it. “See those little diamond shaped things?” He makes a noise in the back of his throat. “I have no idea what those are. The rest of the composition is like any other venom, from any other reptile, but those…” she sighs, “I’m lost.” 

“You’re lost?” Stiles asks and she frowns at him. “Lydia Martin is lost? No,” he shakes his head, “Lydia Martin is never lost, just temporarily turned around perhaps. Lydia Martin was born with an innate sense of direction that means she is never lost. Lydia Martin…” She clamps her hand over his mouth and grins at him. 

“Ok, I get it.” She lifts her hand off his mouth and Stiles grins right back at her. 

“Enough of a kick in the pants?” He asks and she nods, pulling on another pair of latex gloves. 

“Enough. Now leave me alone, I’ve got work to do.” Stiles kisses her cheek again and smiles as she turns back to her equipment. 

“Love you.” She waves vaguely at him. 

…

Stiles wanders into the makeshift infirmary to find Melissa putting a bandaid over a scraped knee with the owner of said scraped knee sniffing quietly above her. He leans against the door frame and watches her smooth the bandaid on and then lean down to kiss the knee gently. The little girl’s face brightens and she grins a gap-toothed grin at her. Stiles remembers falling out of the tree in Scott’s backyard when he was 7, and Melissa picking him up off the floor and smoothing antiseptic cream over the cut on his shin. He remembers the kiss she placed to his forehead and the cookie she pushed into his hands afterwards. He also remembers Scott asking him to fall out of trees more often if it meant them getting cookies. 

“All better?” Melissa asks and the little girl nods, and hops off the bed. 

“Thanks,” she calls as she runs out of the room and Melissa spares Stiles a tired smile. 

“How’s the head?” She asks and Stiles pushes himself off the doorframe. 

“A little sore, but it’ll pass…I wanted to talk to you.” Melissa pauses as she takes off her gloves and swallows. 

“Stiles…” she starts and Stiles shakes his head. 

“My dad’s been alone for so long,” he says and Melissa stills, looks up at him and then nods. “And so have you. And I know you’re not trying to take my mom’s place.” 

“Never,” she says and Stiles distantly remembers his mom and Melissa sitting in his kitchen, with glasses of wine, giggling about the date Melissa had been on. He smiles at the memory. 

“I think it’s great,” he says and Melissa smiles suddenly, tucking her hair behind her ear. She looks young, like a teenager all of a sudden, blushing as she does it and Stiles takes a step towards her. “I think it’s really great.” 

“Thank you…Stiles, thank you.” Melissa takes a half step towards him and he meets her halfway, pulling her into a hug. She sighs gently. 

“I know it’s meant for dad’s but do I have to give the ‘hurt him I hurt you’ speech?” He asks genuinely and Melissa laughs. 

“I think that’s just reserved for dads but I won’t.” Melissa lets him go and sobers. 

“I know.” He answers. And he means it, because his dad and Melissa both need someone and if it’s taken an Alien invasion for them to realise that despite their tragic histories they are kind of perfect for each other now then so be it. “I’ve gotta go and make sure Derek’s still not sulking at me.” 

Melissa nods sagely. “Give him time, Stiles, it’s terrifying to think you’re going to lose someone you love.” Stiles runs his hands through his hair. “Are you ok?” 

“I…feel like I should be having a freak out about this, about being hopelessly in love with him, but…” he trails off. 

“It feels right?” Melissa asks, cocking her head to the side. 

“So right,” Stiles admits without a second’s hesitation. 

“Well then, stop trying to force a freak out,” She smiles and slaps his cheek gently. Stiles bites on his bottom lip. 

“I…I just…I don’t know how to do relationships, let alone one with a grumpy werewolf who growls at me whilst Aliens are trying to kill us,” he sighs and Melissa lets out a little laugh. 

“You think any of us know how to? Stiles, everyone is just winging it. Go get your skinny butt out of here and go find your grumpy werewolf.”

“Yes ma’am,” Stiles salutes and grins at her. She shakes her head and points at the door. 

“Get out.” 

…

“You still mad at me?” Stiles pokes his head round the tent to find Derek scowling down at his boots. Derek rolls his eyes at him but pats the sleeping bag next to him and goes back to his laces. 

“Was never mad,” Derek admits, frowning down at his boots again and stabbing a lace through one of the eyelets. 

“You were a little mad,” Stiles replies and Derek nudges his shoulder gently. 

“Already told you I was scared, don’t make me say it again,” Derek mutters, pulling the lace through and stabbing it back into another eyelet. Stiles reaches down to cover his hand with his own. 

“Look at me.” Derek frowns at his boots one last time and then looks up at Stiles. His eyes are still that ridiculous greeny blue colour but they’re swimming with an emotion that takes Stiles breath away. “I’m afraid to tell you this but you’re stuck with me for the long haul. Ok?” Derek blinks and reaches forward to cup his hands around Stiles’s face. His thumbs drag against Stiles’s cheekbones. “Want me to tell you why?” Stiles asks and Derek nods, his palms practically burning through Stiles’s skin. “Because I love you.” Derek kisses him then, hard and demanding, pushing Stiles back against their mountain of sleeping bags and pillows. “I love you,” he says again as Derek slides his mouth along Stiles’s jawline, “and I’m sorry I scared you but things like that are going to happen, and they’re going to keep happening.” Stiles winds his hands into Derek’s hair and tugs his face up to stare at him in the eyes, “I can’t sit back and let everyone else do things just because you get pissy when I get hurt.” 

“I’m not asking you to do that,” Derek shakes his head, Stiles’ hands still in his hair, “I’m just asking you to remember you have people who care about you, who care what happens to you. Me…specifically.” Stiles grins up at him, and resists the urge to sing at him about how much Derek loves him. He curls his legs around Derek and crosses them at the ankle, keeping Derek close and reaching up to run his thumbs across Derek’s cheekbones. 

“I’ll bear that in mind next time I go on a suicide mission,” he says and pulls Derek down to kiss him.

“Not funny,” Derek mutters against Stiles’s lips, the vibrations of his words tickling his skin in a way that makes him smile and nudge his nose against Derek’s. 

“Was a little funny…” 

“I love you,” Derek says it simply and it’s the first time he’s said it properly and it’s so simple, heart breaking in its honesty that Stiles blinks, speechless. “If I knew that was all it took to shut you up I would have done it years ago.” 

“You love me.” 

“Yeah…I do, for my sins.” 

“Ok, new deal…” Stiles pushes Derek up and sits himself, crosses his legs in front of him and Derek smiles and does the same. “No unnecessary endangering of selves…ok? Because we both love each other and now we have to behave like we have important people in our lives.” He sticks his hand out and Derek curls his own around it. Stiles spares a thought for how their hands seem to fit perfectly together, his own longer fingers curling around Derek’s to cover the back of his and the way their thumbs slot together, before Derek’s pulling his hand away and launching himself at Stiles with a soft growl. Stiles lets out a surprised grunt as his back hits the sleeping bags but then is too busy to protest because Derek’s mouth is over his own. 

There’s a tangle of limbs as Derek gets Stiles out of his pants and shirt without taking his lips off Stiles’s for longer than a few seconds and then there’s skin against skin and Derek groans into Stiles’ mouth. Stiles would be content with just this, the comforting weight of Derek’s body on his, the slick slide of Derek’s dick against his own and Derek’s mouth working its usual magic. But Derek flails one hand to the side and gropes around for something, he eventually drags his mouth away from Stiles’with an irritated, regretful groan and reaches into the backpack for the condoms and lube. Stiles reaches up to pluck them from his hands but Derek swats his hands away and tears open the packet. He looks down at Stiles and strokes himself once and then rolls the condom onto his own dick. 

“Derek…” Stiles breathes out and Derek leans down to kiss him quiet. Between them Stiles hears the click of the lube bottle and Derek sits up and reaches behind him. He doesn’t say a word, just slips his eyes shut and pushes a finger inside himself, his stomach muscles flexing under his skin. “Fuck, Derek…” Derek sucks in a breath, swallows, the line of his throat moving, the bob of his Adam’s apple makes Stiles’ mouth water. 

It’s almost over too quickly, the breath taking sight of Derek opening himself up for Stiles, the hitch in his breathing, the way his eyes lock with Stiles’s for a few seconds, heat and feelings radiating off him. Almost, because Stiles’ fingers are itching to pull Derek down onto him, his dick painfully hard curving up against his stomach and he knows he cant touch himself right now because if he does, he’ll be done and he doesn’t want this over yet. Derek stops, whines slightly as he pulls his fingers out of himself and shifts up Stiles’s body. He reaches behind again and curls his hand around Stiles’s dick. 

“I would burn this world to keep you safe,” Derek says, leaning down and pressing his forehead against Stiles’. He lines himself up and sinks down the whole way in one sure slide. Stiles groans, Derek’s almost scalding inside, and he scrapes his teeth over Stiles’ bottom lip as he wiggles slightly, seated fully on Stiles’ dick and Stiles groans again. 

“Same,” he manages to gasp out, sweat prickling across his skin and Derek’s hands against his shoulders. “This goes both ways, Derek.” Derek lifts himself up, practically all the way and sinks back down. 

“I know,” Derek moves again, using Stiles’ shoulders to push himself up and Stiles thinks he’s never seen anything more pornographic than Derek right now. A bead of sweat rolls down Derek’s chest and Stiles wishes he could lick it, catch it with his tongue and taste it. Derek groans, tugging on Stiles’ shoulders and Stiles manages to move under him, manages to get himself up and pull Derek to him with a hand flat against his back. It’s cramped like this and Stiles can feel Derek’s dick trapped between them. 

“We’re going to beat them,” Stiles says, sliding his hand up Derek’s sweaty back and winding his fingers into Derek’s hair. “We’re going to beat the bastards, Derek.” 

“I know…harder.” Stiles, with a strength he didn’t realise he had, gets Derek flat on his back and pushes in hard enough that he sees stars. Derek groans again and grips at Stiles’ shoulders. 

“We’re going to be ok,” Stiles says, forehead pressed to Derek’s and Derek winds one hand around the back of Stiles’s neck and tugs him down to kiss him. It’s sloppy and the way Stiles snaps his hips forward makes their lips slip and slide against each other but it’s just the connection he needs. Stiles lifts one of Derek’s legs a little higher and pushes all the way in. “You and me, Derek….we’re going to be ok.” 

Derek tugs at the long hair at the back of Stiles’ head and Stiles locks eyes with him, “I love you…fuck Stiles…” Stiles’ name on his lips, the way it almost sounds broken and so much more vulnerable than Derek ever is, makes Stiles want to cry. And for a crazy second Stiles wants to wrap the Alpha werewolf in cotton wool and keep him safe. “Fuck me.” The low growl timbre is back in his voice noise, the vulnerability gone and Stiles renews his efforts to take Derek’s breath away. 

Stiles feels his orgasm building at the base of his spine, tingles down the backs of his thighs and he hitches Derek’s leg even higher and slams in. Derek scratches his nails down Stiles’ back and reaches between them to twist his hand around his own dick. Derek comes a few seconds later, his eyes locked with Stiles’ , they flutter but keep open and he growls as he comes, hot and sticky over his own hand and Stiles’s skin. Stiles comes moments later, buried as deep inside Derek as he can. 

They stay like that for a while, his forehead pressed to Derek’s shoulder and Derek’s fingers playing across Stiles’s shoulder blades. Stiles wants to speak, useless words building behind his lips but he keeps quiet and pulls out of Derek and flops down next to him. He presses a kiss to Derek’s shoulder and Derek pulls him close. 

“Derek?” 

“Hmmm?” The noise rumbles through Derek’s chest into Stiles’ cheek and anything that he might have said goes out of his mind. 

“Nothing.” 

Derek huffs out a brief laugh and presses his lips to Stiles’ sweaty hair, “go to sleep.” 

…

Stiles has always had trouble sleeping. Sure he can sleep anywhere, but its never for long, his brain never switching off long enough to get more than a couple of hours before he wakes and mulls over things that may have happened the previous day. 

But with Derek, he sleeps better than ever, passes out practically with his cheek smooshed against Derek’s hard chest and Derek’s arm around him like a clamp. Safe and sound, he sleeps.  
He wakes up with no Derek but the sleeping bag still warm from his body heat. He turns his face into the pillow and smells Derek on the material. His head feels fuzzy and like he could sleep for another couple of weeks but at least a little bit better than he did yesterday. 

But the point is that Derek makes him better. Derek makes him focus all that nervous energy, focus it to other things and Stiles doesn’t know if that scares or makes him feel more comfortable than he ever has. 

He stretches and scratches at the dried come on his stomach before pushing himself up and pulling on some clothes. He needs to shower and he grabs his towel and wanders off to try and find some hot water. 

There are mercifully some showers in the Mall, but the water pressure leaves a lot of be desired but Stiles manages to run some soap over his skin and hair before the tepid heat runs out completely. He makes a mental note to go see if he can help sort out the boilers down in the basement later on today as he pulls his clothes over his still slightly damp skin. He rubs his towel over his hair, makes it stick up in wet spikes before running his hands through it and he’s done. He debates about putting his towel back but leaves it hanging on one of the pegs, so be it if it goes walking. He wanders off in search of breakfast and Derek. 

He finds breakfast first, manages to spoon a full mouthfuls of almost stale cereal down his throat and grab a cup of long since made coffee, John grimaces a smile at him and shakes his own coffee cup. 

“You would think in a Mall, we would have found better coffee,” he muses, staring into the bottom of his mug. Stiles huffs out a laugh and shrugs. 

“Not that you should be drinking it, at least its caffeine.” 

“True…how are you feeling?” Stiles rubs at the back of his neck thoughtfully. 

“Better than yesterday,” he answers honestly and John lays a brief hand on his arm in a totally out of character show of affection. 

“And the rest?” 

“Better than yesterday,” he says with a smile and John blinks thoughtfully back at him. “He told me he loved me,” Stiles blurts out and John just blinks again, totally untaken aback, “I mean, I knew, but he actually told me last night.” John squeezes his arm and lets go. 

“And?”

“And, I’m not freaking out about the fact I’m not freaking out anymore.” John lets out a brief laugh and Stiles knows that Melissa and John must have talked. The thought doesn’t upset him as much as he thought it would. 

“We all deserve someone, Stiles, and you’re good for each other.” He says and Stiles frowns a little. 

“How do you mean?” 

“Well, I actually saw Derek smile the other day.” Stiles laughs and John rubs a hand across his face, “and you…well…you’re more…” he trails off as if grasping for the right word. 

“Focused?” Stiles offers, thinking about his thoughts this morning. John nods. 

“Exactly.” He smiles, his easy, loving smile making Stiles want to hug him. He resists for the moment and swallows the rest of his engine grease that’s trying to masquerade as coffee.

“It’s good.” He says simple and John nods again. 

“It’s good.” John reiterates and Stiles gets the feeling they’re talking about more than just him and Stiles 

“Right, on that note, I need to go find Lydia, see how she’s doing,” Stiles stands and stretches his arms over his head. John stands as well, moving his arms like he’s going to hug Stiles. He obviously thinks better of it and drops his arms to his sides. 

“Ok, any change let me know.” Stiles nods. 

“Will do….oh dad?” John turns, with a raised eyebrow. “Thanks.” 

…

Lydia has her hands on her head when Stiles finds her. Standing in the middle of her makeshift lab with an expression on her face that Stiles can’t quite place, but her hands are on her head, fingers tangled in her hair and she looks exhausted, almost exhilarated, but exhausted. 

“What’s happened?” Stiles asks, worry seeping into his veins. Lydia snaps out of whatever trance she was in and runs her hands completely through her hair before lowering them and pointing one finger at the microscope on the table. 

“I’ve got it…Stiles…I’ve got it!” She grins slowly, her eyes still tired but shining with triumph. “Once I figured out that it doesn’t matter what’s in the venom as long as it works, I figured it out! Well not completely, but I managed to isolate the component and I think it’s going to work Stiles…oh my God, I think it’s going to work.” She grips Stiles by the front of his hoodie and pulls him closer. 

“I have no idea what you just said but am I reading you right? You’ve got it?” 

“I fucking got it.” She grins, the curse off her lips takes Stiles by surprise and he grins right back at her. “We just need to test it but I _think_ it’s going to work.” She jumps a little, looking so much younger than she has for a long time. 

“Let’s go paralyse some skitters then.” Lydia grabs a syringe off the table and darts off out of the door before Stiles can even blink. 

…

“So you’re telling me,” John says slowly, looking from Stiles to Lydia back to Stiles again, “that you’ve figured out how to use Jackson’s venom against the skitters?” 

“I tested the isolated paralytic components of the venom against skitter blood and it temporarily changed the shape of their blood cells. I don’t know enough about the skitter circulatory system to know if changing the shape of the blood cells is enough to stop them carrying enough oxygen to keep things working properly but it’s worth a shot. Right?” Jackson is right behind Lydia, his hand clasped in hers and Stiles sees her knuckles go white briefly as she grips at his hand. Stiles catches Derek’s eye across the room and he smiles briefly, a very brief twitch at the corner of his mouth before he looks back at John and crosses his ridiculous arms over his chest. Stiles wants to go stand next to him, to soak up the heat from his body and wrap his hands around those arms, the memory of them wrapped around him last night floats to the front of his mind. Derek closes his eyes briefly and looks at Stiles like he can read his mind. He raises one eyebrow and Stiles shrugs as if to say “sorry, I can't help it.” 

“ _Stop it_ ,” Derek mouths across the room as Lydia launches into yet another techno-babble one sided conversation with John. 

“ _Make me_ ,” Stiles mouths back at him and John clears his throat. Stiles turns back to him to find him, Jackson and Lydia all staring at him. “Sorry…continue.” 

“So all I need is to test it,” Lydia finishes and John sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“So basically you want me to put you in a cage with one of those things?” John asks and Lydia grimaces a little. Jackson squeezes her hand again. 

“I’ll do it,” Derek steps forward and Stiles bites on his own lip to stop himself from objecting. John flicks his glance to Stiles for a brief second then nods at Derek. 

“Ok, let’s go find some back up and make a plan.” John opens the door and waits for Lydia and Jackson to trail out. He takes one look at Stiles glaring at Derek and clears his throat again before he leaves and closes the door behind him. 

“How is this behaving like you have someone special in your life?” Stiles demands as soon as the door is shut and Derek blinks. 

“Stiles…” He shakes his head a little and Stiles points at him. 

“No, you have a go at me for putting myself in danger and you just want to walk into a cage with one of those things? And you expect me to just sit back and not at least try to talk you out of it?” Stiles takes a step towards him and pokes him in the chest. Derek frowns down at the spot like it hurt and Stiles nearly laughs. 

“Stiles…” He tries again and Stiles holds up his finger. 

“It’s like…I just…I’m so mad at you right now,” Stiles manages to say and Derek raises an eyebrow. 

“Will you let me talk?

“What? Sorry…yes,” Stiles shoves his hands into his pockets and Derek makes an abortive attempt to reach out to him. He sighs and does the same with his hands. 

“You want Lydia to go in there?” Derek asks and Stiles sighs as well. 

“No…” he begrudgingly answers and Derek does reach out then, resting his hands on Stiles’ hips.  
“Two seconds, that’s all, shove the needle in and get out,” Derek crouches down a little to get in Stiles’ vision and raises an eyebrow. 

“Promise?” Stiles asks and looks back down at Derek’s chest. His own chest aching and stomach coiling with worry. 

“Come here…” Derek tugs on Stiles’ belt loops and presses a kiss to Stiles’ forehead, “I promise.” 

“Super special pinky promise?” Stiles asks with a faint smile, the worry still coiling his stomach but he’s feeling a little lighter now. 

“What are you? 12? And a girl?” Derek asks, with a little laugh. 

“Hate you,” Stiles mutters, but he can feel the smile on his face. Derek curls two fingers under his chin and lifts his face to kiss him once. 

“Hate you too.” 

…

Boyd’s keeping watch over the skitter when they get down to the boiler room. He’s got a rifle slung over his shoulders and a grim set to his mouth. He volunteered to keep watch and Stiles can only imagine what goes through his head as he sits there and watches one of the creatures that killed Erica. John claps him on the shoulder and Boyd nods, glances at Derek and gives him a tight smile. 

“No change, sir,” Boyd says to John, “just been standing there all night, not really doing anything. It looks…” He trails off and glances at the creature, “it looks like it’s aware of what’s going on sometimes, like it knows it’s not getting out of here.” Boyd shakes his head and Stiles sees the hard set of his shoulders, the tenseness across them as he hitches his rifle a little and shrugs. “I dunno. Maybe I’ve been down here too long, imagining things.” He laughs a little, a tired noise tinged with sarcasm and uncertainty. Stiles looks at the Skitter, the strange looking creature that has ruined their lives. It’s hard, almost, to feel hatred towards it when it’s like this, it almost looks sad, and Boyd is right, resigned to its fate. Stiles shakes his head as he feels Derek’s hand warm against the small of his back.

“You ok?” Derek asks and Stiles nods, eyes still fixed on the small, beady eyes of the Skitter. 

“Yeah just…” he leans back into Derek’s touch, “just wondering what drove them to come here. What made them chose us, what made them the way they are?” 

“Does it matter?” Derek asks, his thumb moving up and down across Stiles’s hoodie. 

“Sometimes I think it does,” Stiles replies, tearing his gaze away from the Skitter to look at Derek. 

“Maybe we’ll never know,” Derek pulls him close and presses their foreheads together, “maybe we will, but right now we have to figure out how to hurt them…at least.” The Skitter moves in Stiles’ periphery, its three fingered hand curls around the bars of the cage and it looks almost longingly at them both, its head cocked to the side. 

“You’re right…” Stiles nods against Derek’s forehead, “you’re right, I know.” Derek moves his hands and cups them around Stiles’s face, his thumbs moving across Stiles’s cheekbones. 

“You ok?” 

“Yeah just…” Stiles curls his fingers into the belt loops on Derek’s jeans, “be careful, ok?” 

“Promise.” Derek kisses him, it’s too short, but sweet and full of promise for later and Stiles groans into his mouth before Derek pulls away. “Promise.” 

“Ok…let’s go fuck shit up,” Stiles smiles crookedly at Derek who nearly chokes on his own laughter. 

“You’re an idiot.” 

“You are both idiots, now hurry up,” John sticks his head around the door frame and smiles a little at Derek as he passes. He smiles a little more at Stiles and claps him on the shoulder. 

Lydia’s filling a syringe with something and Jackson’s watching over her shoulder. Boyd is talking to Derek in low tones that Stiles can’t pick up but he’s strapping something to Derek’s chest as he does it, something that looks like the homemade body armour he made a few months back and the tightness in Stiles’s chest lessens a little. 

“Remember that soft spot in their mouths, aim for that,” Boyd says, louder this time and Derek nods, taking the syringe from Lydia’s hand. It’s a brutal looking syringe, the needle long and thick and for a fleeting second, Stiles feels almost sorry for the Skitter. 

“Won't that just kill them?” Lydia asks and Boyd looks at her like she’s grown an extra head. She clears her throat, “I mean, isn’t the point to see how this affects them, and getting it into their bloodstream is what we need to do, right?” Boyd frowns but then his expression irons out and he nods. 

“I guess you’re right,” he says and Derek claps a hand on his shoulder. Stiles can guess what Boyd is going through right now, wanting to find a way to kill the things that killed Erica, but they need to see if they can get close to these things by incapacitating them. 

“You ready, son?” John asks and Stiles nods absently before he realises John’s talking to Derek. Derek nods and there’s “I’ll see you in a minute” burning in his eyes as he looks at Stiles. Stiles smiles weakly and nods back. The keys in Boyd’s hand jingle as he lifts them and waves them in front of Derek’s face. 

“Let’s go.” 

It’s nothing really, a simple matter of Derek getting into the cage and putting the syringe into the mouth of the Skitter, but for some reason Stiles feels like Derek’s going on a mission without him, feels like Derek’s putting his life seriously on the line for this and Stiles’s doesn’t know if he’s going to come out of that cage alive or not. Boyd halts at the cage door, looks at Derek one last time before putting the key into the lock and turning. It scrapes, clunks open and Boyd leans against it until Derek nods one last time and Boyd pulls the door open. Derek slips inside and Boyd pulls the door shut again. Stiles wants to close his eyes, doesn’t want to see this but he keeps them open and reaches down to grip at Lydia’s hand. She squeezes but keeps her eyes on Derek in the cage. The Skitter backs up, watches Derek and cocks its head to the side questioningly as Derek keeps his distance. Stiles can see the calculations going on in Derek’s head right now and the hand gripped around the syringe ripples as Derek changes, his teeth growing, a low growl rumbling from his chest, turning into a full on snarl as Derek bares his fangs at the alien. 

Lydia twists her hand in Stiles’s grip and slides her fingers between Stiles’s as Derek launches himself at the Skitter, syringe in his hand lifted up at the ready. Stiles closes his eyes briefly, screws them shut and all he can hear is Derek’s breathing. And that’s ok, he’s managed to tune everything else out and Derek is still breathing. There’s grunt of pain and Stiles’s eyes snap open. Derek’s holding the top of his arm, snarling at the alien, his eyes glowing red as the snarl rumbles from Derek. So low and dangerous, Stiles can practically feel it through his feet. Derek launches again, pushes the needle into the Skitter and manages to push the plunger down. He howls again as the Skitter gets the back of his leg, just as Boyd’s pulling the door open and dragging Derek out by the homemade body armour. 

“Get Melissa,” Stiles shouts at someone, _anyone_ , as he drops down to Derek’s head and runs his hands over any part of him that he can find. Derek curls his hands around Stiles’s wrists and lets him. “What hurts? Apart from the arm and the leg, you ok? Can you feel me doing this?” Stiles pokes him in the ribs and Derek lets out an honest to God squeak. 

“Dammit Stiles, yes, I can feel that,” he glares at Stiles, upside down and from the floor and it’s almost funny. Stiles feels hysterical laughter bubbling up his throat as he looks down at Derek. 

“Look,” Lydia calls, her hands wrapped around the bars of the cage. The Skitter stumbles, lets out a noise like a dying animal, stumbles again and collapses onto the dusty floor. It moves one last time, a pathetic shift as it stares up at them all. “I think it’s working.” 

It’s still alive, it’s eyes beady and pointing at Derek as Stiles lifts Derek’s head and rest it back against his knees. Derek’s fingers are still curled around Stiles’s wrists. It’s alive, but it’s still, apart from the rise and fall of it’s body as it breathes. Boyd pulls the door open again and takes a step inside. 

“Boyd,” Derek calls and Boyd holds his hand out behind him and takes another step towards it. He crouches down in front of it and reaches one hand out to it. It doesn’t move, even though it’s eyes track the movement. 

“It worked,” Stiles mutters and Derek’s fingers tighten around his wrist. He looks down at Derek and then up at Lydia. “It worked.” Lydia looks just about as shocked as everyone else. But then she flicks her hair over her shoulder and grins. 

“Did you expect anything less?” She asks and Stiles lets out an hysterical laugh as Melissa comes through the door, followed by Isaac. 

“I’m ok,” Derek says, pushing himself up off Stiles. “Just…dammit, those bastards hurt.” Derek clutches at his arm and Melissa pushes the material of his t-shirt up over his shoulder. 

“Hate that you don’t heal,” Stiles mutters and Derek presses his forehead to Stiles’s shoulder as Melissa pours Peroxide onto the scratches. Derek hisses and Stiles runs his fingers across the back of his neck. 

“Ok,” John claps his hands and everyone looks at him. Apart from Derek who looks down at the skin of his arm as Melissa inspects the scratches. Stiles wants to call him a baby, laugh at the fact that he turns into a hypochondriac when he doesn’t heal but the words just don’t come. “So…that worked. Isaac, keep an eye on this thing though, let me know how long it works for. Someone find Allison and Lydia, you and her work together to see if you can come up with a delivery system, I’m thinking bullets or arrows.” Lydia nods and pulls Jackson with her as she goes. “Jackson…” Lydia stops as Jackson does and Jackson nods at her. She lets go of his hand and she gives him one last look before bounding up the stairs in search of Allison. “You doing ok?” Jackson nods and John claps him on the shoulder. “Thank you.” Jackson looks up, confused and surprised but John is already moving on to Derek and Stiles sees Jackson’s shoulders move as he sucks in a shuddering breath and wanders off in pursuit if Lydia. Stiles has seen a new side of Jackson since all this started, obviously, but this side of Jackson, the one willing to help, to turn himself into something he hates, something he tries so hard to keep at bay, still takes Stiles by surprise sometimes. 

“You going to live?” John nods down at Derek who huffs out a laugh. It’s a laugh that Derek makes when he’s comfortable with someone and Stiles looks between the two most important people in his life. John reaches down and slaps Derek’s cheek gently. “Good work.” 

“Ok what just happened?” Stiles asks once his dad is out of the room and he’s left with just Derek and Melissa. Melissa snorts out a laugh and presses a dressing to Derek’s arm. 

“What?” 

“You, my dad, not glaring at each other like you want to kill each other.” Stiles points at the spot where his father disappeared through the door and Derek shrugs, hisses in a breath and Melissa slaps his arm gently. 

“Stay still,” she says. 

“Well…” Derek says slowly, “we bonded.” 

“You what? When?” 

“When you got hurt,” Derek looks down at the bandage on his arm and Melissa moves over to the scratches on his thigh. 

“So when I thought you were sulking you were bonding with my dad?” Stiles says slowly and Derek looks back up at him. Melissa pulls out some scissors and grimaces at Derek briefly before cutting down his jeans. Stiles mourns them briefly, Derek’s ass looked impeccable in them. 

“He called me an idiot,” Derek mutters. Melissa snorts and tries to hide it with a cough when Derek glares at her. 

“Well he’s got a point,” Stiles muses and Derek scowls at him, grimaces as Melissa pours Peroxide down onto his thigh. 

“I think you’ll live,” Melissa says, pats Derek on the shoulder gently and pushes herself to her feet. Derek scowls at the scratches on his thighs. They’ll heal, eventually, but Derek hates that they stay on his skin for a few days, hates that he has to be careful, that he pulls the skin every now and then and forgets that he doesn’t heal properly, hates that he’s practically human for those few days. 

“Thanks,” Stiles mutters as Melissa walks out and looks down at Derek. “You Ok?” 

“I love you,” Derek looks right at him when he says it, unblinking as Stiles flounders for words and does his best impression of a goldfish. It’s not that Derek hasn’t said it before, but it takes Stiles completely by surprise with Derek sitting on a dusty floor covered in his own blood, overlooked by a Skitter. 

“I love you too, you big baby,” Stiles smiles and leans over to kiss him. Derek takes the kiss with a small sigh. “Let’s get you into bed.” Derek raises an eyebrow and Stiles rolls his eyes. “Not like that pervert…unless…?” 

“Sleep,” Derek growls out as he pushes himself to his feet and Stiles grabs his uninjured arm and wraps it around his shoulder. “Stiles.” 

“Yeah I know, you’re fine,” he sighs and his fingers curled around Derek’s wrist squeeze slightly. “Just, for once, let me help you, ok?” 

“Ok.” It’s a testament to how much pain Derek is actually in that he lets Stiles help him back to their beds, how he leans heavily on Stiles’s shoulder and grunts whenever Stiles hitches him a little higher. 

“One day,” Stiles says conversationally as he dumps Derek gently down on their bed, “We’re going to have a normal day.” Derek sways and Stiles crawls into bed behind him and slides his hands up Derek’s shoulder blades. Derek drop his head down and Stiles runs his fingers over the bumps of bone in his neck before digging his thumbs into the tight muscles at the base of his neck. Derek groans. “A quiet normal day,” Stiles continues, pressing his thumbs into the knotted muscles down Derek’s spine, “where we wake up, have breakfast,” Derek groans again as Stiles pushes his thumbs into the muscle at the base of his spine, “spent the rest of the day lounging around. I was thinking we could spend the entire day in here…in bed.” Derek groans again and rolls his shoulders gently. He lifts his head and cracks his neck to one side. 

“And what would we do in bed all day?” Derek asks, his voice slurring with tiredness and pain but still amused and Stiles tugs on his t-shirt and Derek pulls it up over his head. 

“I think I could keep you amused,” Stiles says, leaning forward and pressing his lips to the tattoo between Derek’s shoulders. 

“You think?” Derek asks and this time Stiles can hear the smile in his voice. Stiles straightens, presses his thumbs into Derek’s shoulders again and Derek groans like he’s trying out for a porno. “That’s good.” 

Stiles smiles to himself, slides his hands around Derek’s ribs and tugs him back against his chest. Derek huffs as he shifts a little but let’s Stiles runs his hands down Derek’s chest and dip his fingers into the waistband of his ruined jeans. 

“Stiles,” Derek’s voice is a faint warning but his hips move like he wants Stiles’s hands in further. “What are you doing?” 

“Helping you sleep,” Stiles mutters, pressing a kiss to the shell of Derek’s ear. “So shush and let me work.” 

“Work?” Derek huffs out a cut short laugh as Stiles pushes his hand the whole way in, his fingers grazing against Derek’s dick. 

“Yes, work…this is a hardship for me, you know?” Stiles grins against the curve of Derek’s jaw and Derek hums low when Stiles curls his fingers around Derek’s dick. 

“Sure it is,” Derek mutters. “What else should we do on our normal day?” Derek asks, his voice a little breathless as Stiles twists his hand slightly, fingers squeezing around his dick. 

“We could go for coffee,” Stiles mutters against Derek’s cheek, and Derek groans again, “we could go get our photos taken in one of those booths. We could go to the movies and make out in the back row.” Derek shudders in Stiles’ arms and winds his good arm around behind Stiles’ neck, his fingers stroking against Stiles’ skin. 

“Sounds good,” he groans as Stiles twists his hand again and runs the nail of his thumb across the slit in Derek’s dick. 

“Doesn’t it,” Stiles replies, his own dick straining against his jeans, pressing into Derek’s lower back. “And when we get home, we could watch movies and make out on the couch like teenagers.” 

“Stiles…” Derek breathes out his name, the fingers at the back of Stiles’ neck twitch against his skin, nails digging in as Derek groans yet again and jerks, fingers slipping.

“Let go,” Stiles whispers into Derek’s ear and Derek does, grunting first, stilling second and coming over Stiles’s hand. 

They fall asleep like that, with Derek leaning against Stiles and Stiles’ hand down Derek’s pants. 

…

It’s a couple of days later before they get the chance to try out the venom. Allison tipped some of her Arrows and Chris had made Lydia dry some of it into powder and devised a way of getting it into bullets. 

It was a long shot, but the more ways they had of distributing it, the more chances they had of it working. 

Everyone was issued with a syringe as well, on the off chance that things didn’t go as planned and Stiles watched as his nearest and dearest packed up to go off to try and kill things. Derek had healed, slowly, like usual when it came to Skitter scratches. Slowly, but nicely, and now there was nothing more than a few red scratches down his thigh and arm. He looked up at Stiles and spared him a brief smile as he shoved a bottle of water into a backpack. Isaac took his freshly sharpened knife back from Allison and shoved it into the homemade holster on his belt. Boyd was his usual stoic self, ready and waiting for the others. 

“I’m coming with you,” Stiles pipes up from his vantage point and Derek looks up at him. There’s a refusal sitting on his lips, Stiles can tell, but he stares straight back at Derek who blinks, and then shrugs. 

“Ok,” he says finally and Stiles breathes a sigh of relief. John raises an eyebrow at him, probably wanting to refuse as well but knowing Stiles well enough to know that even refusing will not stop him. Stiles isn’t letting Derek go out there without him. Not this time. 

John hands him a pistol and Stiles nods a little before tucking it into the back of his pants. 

“Don’t shoot your foot off,” John says and Stiles laughs sarcastically. 

“See you when we get back,” he says and his dad nods. 

“Right everyone,” John says loudly and everyone turns to look at him. “You all know what you’re doing, so lets go see if this works.” 

“Thank you for the vote of confidence, Sheriff,” Lydia pipes up, her voice betraying nothing of the smile that sparkles in her eyes. John smiles back at her. 

“How about…lets go kick some ass?” John offers and Lydia nods, her lips curling into a smile that John mirrors. 

“Better.” 

“You sure you want to come?” Derek asks, and Stiles jumps slightly as he says it right into Stiles’s ear. He can still get the jump of Stiles, even now, when he can take a deep breath and smell Derek pretty much from a mile away. 

“Not letting you out there by yourself, what happens if one of those big bad Skitters hurts you?” Stiles pokes his bottom lip out and Derek narrows his eyes playfully. 

“What happens if it hurts you,” he counters and Stiles scoffs. 

“I think I have proven that I can take care of myself.” 

“Yeah, and come out of a situation with nothing more than a pesky concussion and a broken rib.” 

“Touché,” Stiles relents and Derek tugs him close with a hand to the flat of his back. “How about,” Stiles starts, “you look out for me, I look out for you?” 

“Deal,” Derek closes it with a kiss, pulling Stiles even closer and Stiles curls his hands around Derek’s arms. 

“Oh God, my eyes…” Scott calls from the other side of the room and Derek growls softly at him but there’s a smile in his eyes as he lets Stiles go. 

“Let’s go.” 

…

They found a group, a largish one but luckily only one Mech. It’s not far from the Mall, in a nearly empty parking lot and Stiles and Boyd are crouching behind a low wall. Stiles knows that once this gets started, it’s going to end pretty quickly, no matter what the outcome, and he’s worried about Derek to the point where he’s pretty sure he’s not going to be able to shoot straight if he needs to. He shifts and Boyd glares at him. 

Boyd’s got something that looks like a bazooka strapped to his back and Stiles has got pins and needles in his feet. He stills next to Boyd as the ground quivers as the Mech stomps past. Boyd nods once at him, pulls the bazooka over his shoulder, plants it on his shoulder and stands. He takes a second, nothing more, to sight the Mech up before he’s pulling the trigger, or pressing the button, or doing whatever it takes to get the Mech on the ground with a stream of fire and the whining of grinding metal.

The Skitters look shocked, for a second, stilling as they search for the shooter before scattering across the car park towards Stiles’s friends and the world goes mad. 

They don’t get a chance to get a handle on Boyd, or anyone really, though, before Allison lets rip on her arrows and they rain down on the Skitters with a soft _whoosh_. There’s the crack of gunfire and one of the Skitters goes down. Chris’s gun, Stiles thinks, as he pulls out his own and stands up from behind his wall.

Derek’s got a smear of blood across his cheek, but he’s standing over a still Skitter so Stiles swallows down his worry and looks for everyone else. Allison is perched high above the rest of them, her bow still posed down at them but all the Skitters that were with the Mech are down. Some dead, if the amount of blood coming from them are anything to go by, but some of them are just still and Chris looks up from the one at his feet to Allison. She nods once and disappears, probably making her way down to them. Derek’s shoulders seem to sag a little and he makes his way over to Stiles, a small smile working its way across his lips. Stiles climbs over his low wall and walks towards him as everyone else seems to be poking the Skitters littering the floor with various bits and pieces.

As quickly as it started, it ends and relief floods into his veins. 

Derek’s favouring one leg but as he moves towards Stiles, his gait steadies. Stiles feels a smile play across his lips when he catches movement at the corner of his vision. 

“Derek!” Stiles manages to say before the Skitter on the floor behind Derek moves, it’s body quivering as it stands and makes a swing for Derek. Stiles raises his gun just as the whole world seems to slow. He raises it, points, and takes a shot, his mind going scarily clear as the shot rings out across the now peaceful parking lot. Derek flinches as time speeds up again, the Skitter falling to the ground next to Derek. He flinches but moves, pulls out his syringe and shoves the needle into the skin of the Skitter. Stiles gets to him and pulls him close. 

“Thank you,” Derek mutters, holding him close and saying the words into his ears. Allison appears running, bow up again and takes one look at Stiles clinging to Derek and lowers it. 

“I hate those things,” Stiles mutters, pulling Derek closer still and pressing his face to the crook in Derek’s neck. He breathes him in, safe and alive and Derek cups a hand around the back of his head. 

“Hey, shhhh, I’m ok.” 

“Told you I would have to save you,” Stiles lets out an uneasy chuckle as he stands back a little. Derek smiles and wipes at the blood on his cheek. 

“I guess you did.” 

“Everyone ok?” Chris calls out and everyone appears from various hiding places, or stops staring at fallen Skitters and make their way over to him. 

“Nice shot, buddy,” Scott claps him on the shoulder and Stiles can't even spare a glare at him, because Scott isn’t being patronising, he genuinely means it. He smiles a little weakly, Derek’s hands clasped in his own. 

“I don’t want to tempt fate,” Boyd starts, “but it looks like that worked.” Chris takes in the fallen Skitters, nothing but their eyes moving and nods slowly. 

“Yeah…it does.” Scott grins across at Allison and she grins right back at him. 

“Ok then,” Stiles says, “what now?” 

…

They make their way back to the Mall, Derek’s limp has all but disappeared and Stiles can't help his hands from tingling from the gun. It’s not that he hasn’t shot a gun before, but it was at cans. It kind of scares him how quickly he pulled his gun and shot. Derek squeezes his hand again, as if he can read Stiles’ mind. 

Sometimes Stiles hates the Skitters, not just for what they’ve done to their planet, but what they’ve done to the human race, what they made human capable of doing just by threatening their lives. He supposes though, that it’s better to fight, than curl up and die. And if fighting means putting aside your reservations about hurting things then so be it. Stiles can do that, he’s done it before. But what scares him, is how quickly he jumps to protect Derek. 

“You ok?” Derek asks, quietly and Stiles looks across at him. 

“Yeah…I am,” and he means it. For once, he really means it. 

John meets them at the Mall entrance, Lydia and Jackson with him and Chris is the one to break the good news. Allison sighs and Jackson looks like he might break out a rare smile but he just lets himself be pulled into a hug from Lydia. 

“We’ve got news,” John says and Stiles feels worry trip across the back of his neck at John’s tone. It’s low and slightly hesitant and John ushers them all into the makeshift command centre. Melissa looks up from the long distance radio they found in one of the electrical stores and crosses her hands in her lap. 

“What’s going on?” Stiles asks and John crosses his arms over his chest. 

“We got crossed wires with a group of…military resistance fighters,” Stiles swallows and John continues, “We’re not 100% sure if they’re legit, but…they’re in Charleston. They call themselves the 2nd Mass. And by the sounds of it, there’s a lot of them and they’ve got a pretty good setup. Running hot water, food, weapons.” 

There’s a stunned silence in the room. On one hand, everyone has been talking about finding a larger group, tagging together to make their fight that much stronger. On the other hand, they all know how other groups can react, how the Aliens have bought out the worst in the human race. 

“I think we take a vote on what to do, get the whole group together,” Stiles says and John nods at him. 

“That’s what I was thinking. It could be dangerous, what with the werewolves and Kanima’s and god knows what else we’ve got in the group. We’ve got something that a lot of people would kill to get their hands on.” 

“Did you…” Jackson begins. 

“No, I didn’t tell them, I told them I was a Sheriff from a small town in California, and that I had a Nurse and a couple of Archers, a bunch of great fighters and the best scientist this side of the invasion.” John smiles across at Lydia who tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “We’ve done alright by ourselves, but we’re all tired, we could all do with just stopping for a while and letting other people take the reins.” 

“You think any of us can just hand over responsibility? Just walk into Charleston and let other people take over? After everything we’ve been through?” Stiles asks and can feel his voice getting louder with each question. “Military doesn’t always equal good. Did you ever see 28 Days Later? I mean, I may be badass but I don’t think I am ready to go running around sticking my thumbs into peoples eye sockets…just saying.” 

“Stiles…they can help us,” Derek says quietly and Stiles takes a breath, looks around at all the people looking back at him. The most important people in his life. “ _We_ can help _them_. And as much as I would usually be averse to letting other people in, especially considering what some of us are, we have strength in numbers and we have something they’ll want. Think about it,” Derek squeezes his hand gently, “hot showers.” 

Something in Derek’s voice makes Stiles shiver a little, the dark molasses tone that he uses when they’re under the cover of darkness, and if anyone else notices, then no one says anything. Stiles narrows his eyes a little. 

“Ok, but if I have to stick my thumbs into eye sockets I am holding you personally responsible.” Stiles grumbles. 

“Does anyone have any idea what he’s talking about?” John asks and Scott raises his hand tentatively. “That was rhetorical, son.” Melissa rolls her eyes fondly at her son. “Right, so lets put this to the rest of the group, anyone uncomfortable can stay here and we can go check it out. But I think Derek’s right, we have got something that can help people, can help everyone and I think we have a responsibility to share it. Jackson?” 

“What you think is best,” Jackson replies, clutching onto Lydia’s hand and once again Stiles finds it hard to see the spoilt rich kid he knew at High School in the man standing in front of him right now. 

“What if we get there and can’t leave?” Isaac says and John turns to look at him. 

“I’m thinking only a handful go first.” John says and Derek nods along with him and Stiles can't help the smile that finds its way to his lips at the sight of his dad and his…boyfriend sharing the leaders post with each other. 

“I’ll go.” Derek says and John nods. 

“And I assume that means you’ll go too,” he says looking at Stiles, who just nods once. 

“I’ll go, I should…I might need to explain some things,” Lydia lets go of Jackson’s hand and stands. Allison steps forward too. 

“If Lydia goes, so do I.” Lydia smiles briefly at her friend. 

“And if Allison goes, so does Scott,” John says as Scott steps forward. “Ok, so we have our team.” Stiles glances at Chris, who looks like he’s going to object, but doesn’t. Stiles knows its probably because he’s well aware that Allison can take care of herself, and would probably stab him in the throat if he tried to stop her looking after her best friend. “Get some rest, we’ll have a briefing tomorrow morning and then can be on your way, whilst you’re gone I’ll brief the rest of the group and we’ll come join you once we hear from you.” 

The group dissipates and John stops Stiles with a hand on his arm. He nods at Derek who leaves with the others. 

“I’m trusting you to look after yourself,” John says and Stiles nods. 

“Not an idiot anymore,” Stiles replies. 

“Debatable.” 

“Ouch, dad.” 

“Just…” John stops and sighs. Stiles pulls him into a hug. 

“Promise I won't intentionally lose any limbs,” he says and John laughs and lets him go. 

“Good.” 

…

Stiles crawls under their pile of sleeping bags and curls himself around Derek. Derek hums and turns around to face him. 

“Everything ok?” He asks. 

They’ve got a shot, a real shot and making this work. Not just them, because Stiles is convinced that he and Derek will work for a long time, but making this venom work. He can feel it, deep within him, that they’re about to turn a corner on this fight they’ve been keeping all to themselves. No matter his reservations about the 2nd Mass, they can’t stay on their own forever. Derek and his dad are right, there is strength in numbers. 

Stiles came to terms a long time ago with the way things have to be, the things he has had to do to stay alive. He came to terms with being so terrifyingly in love with Derek. He came to terms with the fact that Derek felt the same way. He came to terms with all that, he’ll come to terms with potentially joining another group and fighting their way out of this shitty situation. 

As long as he has his family, he’ll be fine. 

“Yeah, everything’s ok.” 

A few years ago, whilst no one was looking, two worlds collided. And despite all the shit, Stiles found Derek. And despite all the shit, everything’s ok.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [ART - Where Worlds Collide](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061942) by [Tarlan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan)




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